Sunday, 6 November 2022

Coming Soon

 


Autumn seems like a peaceful interlude in my life. “What a perfect summer I have had”, I thought. I have seen beauty in nature, and I have been blessed with love, friendship, generosity and kindness. What more is there? It appears to me that pumpkins and apples are not the only fruits harvested in autumn. Love and friendship are also the delicious fruits of our labour. 

 










"It is necessary for me to see the first point of light that begins to be dawn. It is necessary to be present alone at the resurrection of Day in solemn silence at which the sun appears, for at this moment all the affairs of cities, of governments, of war departments, are seen to be the bickering of mice. I receive from the Eastern woods, the tall oaks, the one word DAY. It is never the same. It is always in a totally new language."

~ Thomas Merton, Journals, May 1965 ~

 




Today is the quintessence of an autumn day. The sun is veiled and watery, and there is a mysterious remoteness in the sun at this time of the year. After spending all its heat and energies like a wayward adolescent during the summer, it finally reaches to its maturity. Each sunbeam stirs us continuously with its tranquil beauty and it demands nothing from us, except a slower beat of life, perhaps. 




This lingering sight of beauty makes me stop whatever I am doing or thinking. Living as we do in a tumultuous and complex world, I find pleasure and consolation in the emanation of all the beauty in nature, even if the beauty is ephemeral. It makes me want to fill the pages of my journal. As long as I live here, I shall never lose this childlike fascination with nature. After all, Shakespeare wisely said: “To be a well-favoured man is a gift of Fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.”

 







I am a yeoman, as such fellows go.

I know no magic trees, no balmy boughs,

No silver-ruddy, gold-vermilion fruits.

But, after all, I know a tree that bears

A semblance to the thing I have in mind.

It stands gigantic, with a certain tip

To which all birds come sometime in their time.

But when they go that tip still tips the tree.

 

Le Monocle de Mon Oncle ~ Wallace Stevens - 1879-1955 ~




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3 comments:

  1. mtomins9 November 2022 at 20:32

    I've so enjoyed your autumn tablescapes! Thank you, as always.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Anonymous11 November 2022 at 22:52

    Thank you for another uplifting post. Nature, beauty, home, hearth, literature - c'est suffis.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. On These Spindrift Pages - A journal of nature, thought, and the reflective life. 12 November 2022 at 08:05

      Thanks for your kind words. All the lovely things you mentioned give nourishment for both our body and mind. One feels refreshed and cleansed every time when we come into contact with them. They are something to keep before us always. Thank you so much for reading.

      Delete

Here is a place set apart from the press of days, where those who linger may find, in quiet company, a measure of solace drawn from nature, art, literature, music, and the deeper currents of thought. It means more than I can say that you pause here, not only to read and look, but to leave behind words that turn these solitary reflections into a shared conversation.

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