Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Autumn's Children

10/18/11-Autumn1
The French do love their flowers

I’m a child of autumn.
Sun hot chrysanthemums and fiery Missouri sugar maples
Compete in me with dark winds prowling the night, moaning of the oncoming cold.
The sidewalk snap of discarded summer shade pops with each shuffling step until
Silent, jagged flashes light the night,
Announcing a dogged veil of rain
To wash away what once had been bright and warm.

My daughter is a child of autumn, too,
   both of us born on the same crisp morning.
Thirty years and an ocean separated us, though, waiting eight years for the moment
   when we would meet in a hot Russian play yard.
We were born just missing both All Hallow’s Eve and
All Saint’s Day.
We are neither demons nor saints.
We share both summer and winter inside.
We flash hot and cold
Together
Like a late autumn dance with nascent winter.

We children of autumn embrace
All seasons
As the last bright windflowers bob their white faces above delicately arching necks
Fall’s purple and umber pansies hug the ground,
Staying out of winter’s way
To survive ever so slightly longer.
And the last bright sign of the season
Cascades from on high, one dropped leaf at a time
So that in one quiet sleep --
Without so much as a chance to say farewell to our time --
Winter greets us at dawn.
 
10/18/11-Autumn2

This poetry attempt is the result of  another writing prompt by Write on EdgeFor you, what does autumn evoke?  Show us in 300 words or less.
 
What does autumn evoke for you?  What season defines you?  Share it in the comments.
And when you’re done telling us about your personal autumn, click on over to this piece I wrote in the fall of 2009.  I was surprised to see how today I echoed writing I had already forgotten.

The colorful Burgundy tiled roofs mimic the autumn
10/18/11 - Autumn3 

I may not post for another week because on Wednesday I have the surgery for my neck and arm I had mentioned in an earlier post.  It shouldn’t leave me incapacitated; however, the medications might make it difficult to put two literary sentences together for a few days, so I’ll use that time to catch up with reading all the great blogs out there.  See you online soon.
  

13 comments:

cathyvhasseldavies said...

I hope everything turns out okay. I loved this piece.

Hugs!

latitudesofaday said...

mmmm... I enjoyed this poem of autumn.
God speed and may your surgery be a success.

samantha stacia said...

Oh Julie! What beautiful flowers!!!
God Bless you on your surgery and keep in touch with us!
I loved your poem and Bryan is an autumn child too, it's nice to put it like that!
Living in Arizona all of my life except a year or so, Autumn always means outdoor adventures, cookouts and the eternal hope of SNOW for the coming winter.
I dont spring clean, I fall clean to get ready to close everything up and snuggle in-even though there have been a few years where there was no need for snuggling or battening down the hatches.
I cant tell how this year is going to treat us, and apparently neither can the Mesquite trees where we usually get our clues as to what kind of winter we will have because 2 weeks ago, the Mesquite in our yard on one side of the tree bloomed! It was the craziest thing to see!
Good writing!
Samantha

animprobablelife.com said...

I thoroughly enjoyed your poem. My mom was an autumn mom so fall always brings back wonderful memories of her. Me? I'm all about summer, but I do appreciate all that autumn represents.

Shadow said...

Full of autumn: it's colours, its changeability, its sudden death. I loved the way that you linked you and your daughter, and your births at the same time with the change of season. The poem has a completeness to it.

Good luck with the surgery.

Galit Breen said...

I love this connection that you share- you described it beautifully!

(I was born on my dad's birthday, so I get this so very much.)

Good luck with your surgery! I hope that all goes well!

Nadine Feldman said...

Lovely. The words, the photos, all of it -- a joy to behold. Thank you. Thinking of you today and hoping the surgery goes well.

Julie Farrar said...

Surgery went well. Thanks for all the comments and good thoughts.

clairemca said...

Beautiful prose, gorgeous colours, actually it makes me feel more spring-like, the beauty of chrysanthemums, bringing that vibrancy of colour just before the fall.

Beautiful as they are, they are an inappropriate gift here in France; available just prior to 1 Nov, the day the nation visit and remember those who have passed.

Glad to hear the surgery went well, make the most of your healing/reading time, just read 'A Gift from the Sea' while in hospital with my daughter, most appropriate.

Laura@Catharsis said...

Beautiful pictures as always, and a remarkable poem as well. You certainly have the gift of words. I am also a child of autumn, though for years I wished I had been born in the summertime like my brother. It seemed so much more fun at the time. By the way, I've awarded you with an award. :-) http://www.findcatharsis.com/2011/10/so-i-says-to-the-guy-i-says.html

Tele said...

Oh, good - glad to hear the surgery went well! Was just thinking of you, Julie. Enjoy this time for you (as much as post-surgery recovery time can be enjoyable...), read up, and we'll be eager to hear from you when you're up and writing again. Best wishes, friend.

Michael Ann said...

Loved your poem, wonderful imagery. My son is an October baby and it makes me think of him. How amazing that you and your daughter share a birthday.

I hope your surgery went well. Thinking healing thoughts for you!!

MuMuGB said...

I am glad that your surgery went well. I am a child of winter. I love a warm fire in the living room and a bit of snow outside.
Anyway, where I am from summers are simply too hot...

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