Toad in the Hole

September 21, 2006

September Song

Sometimes

8-spot, bitten1

one gets to feeling autumnal, and finds oneself sitting still in the precious sunshine, and remembering the green that has disappeared into gold... Well, people call it gold, but it feels like dun on some days, and like something halfway between ripening and desiccating most of the time. But what's left is that, and blue unknown, what we name "infinity" mostly because we can't see to the other side of it.

And one contemplates what's missing, the part of the wing that something one can barely name has bitten away. Flying is still possible, but it gets too strenuous too fast. The losses, the holes in the landscape and the web of friendships and the sustaining world are small to observers, but crippling in the oddest ways. Vulnerabilities get more dangerous.

Best to sit still.

Posted at September 21, 2006 06:02 AM

Comments

Nice, Ron. :)

Posted by: Sara at September 23, 2006 12:17 AM


That's a poignant take on this season of diminished light - metaphor of hope.

Posted by: Cathy at September 29, 2006 03:18 AM


Thank you. These last few years, autumn gets to feeling entirely too apropos.

Posted by: Ron at September 29, 2006 07:05 AM