Friday, October 13, 2017

The garden in October

October 13th, 2017

I had meant to post this earlier.

The title of this poem is

October 10th

and it describes so beautifully

the little jungle out the back,

we call the garden.

Now constantly there is the sound,
quieter than rain,
of the leaves falling.

Under their loosening bright
gold, the sycamore limbs
bleach whiter.

Now the only flowers
are beeweed and aster, spray
of their white and lavender
over the brown leaves.

The calling of a crow sounds
loud - a landmark - now
that the life of summer falls
silent, and the nights grow.
Wendell Berry

I have just come in from walking with Bruce 
in the quickening dusk of autumn.


Reading Wendell Berry I am reminded
of our early days farming,
and the part Louis Bromfield played
in our philosophy of farming,
and his influence on us
in establishing a flock of sheep
in the orchard.

An early Wendell Berry.

I search the shelves for his 'Malibar Farms"
but it seems to have disappeared
(probably on the shelves of one of the children)
and I have to be content with his novel
'Early Autumn'

It takes me back.
and the memories are so good....




3 comments:

Nicola Finch said...

Beautiful!

Sallie (FullTime-Life) said...

thank you for sharing your wonderful memories -- and for the perfect October poem.

Barb said...

Remembering and the beauty surrounding you now - thankful that you are sharing with us, Hildred.