Foxglove Moments

Foxglove Moments

November 15, 2015


"Man, this rain sucks. We shoulda went south with the Reds for winter."

"Aah, they're a bunch of wusses. Besides you hate flying."

"I don't like the cold and the rain together. Separately, I can take, but not together."

"Get over it already, will ya. It's not even officially winter yet."

"Is it just me or is he watering down the drinks again?"





November 10, 2015















Watching autumn do its thing,
slowly overtaking summer,
day by day, leaf by leaf,
blossoms dying without grief.
It's just what they do,
And they seem to know it.

I wonder at how effortlessly,
how perfectly the seasons pass.
No grandstanding, no defiant show,
they just...let...go.





November 7, 2015
















Here might lie the origin of all religions:
In such a sunset that takes one's breath away
and pulls us out of ourselves,
intimating that we are part of something far grander
than our tiny, temporary lives,
part of something beyond the mind's intellectual reach.

And our ancestors took it from there,
creating a God or gods or spirits,
to somehow account for this majesty and mystery
that we sense but cannot explain,
yet feel we somehow must.




November 5, 2015

Every year around this time, approximately four billion maple leaves fall in my yard, half of which manage to land in my pond.

Each is the size of an elephant ear--a large elephant.

And each spring I clean my pond, removing a foot of decomposed leaf sludge from the bottom.




So this year I looked into getting a pond screen. The pond shop didn't carry them, but the helpful store assistant suggested that I make one myself. "They're easy to make," he said.

Easy to make. He was probably thinking of someone like my father or my nephew Ryan; he probably wasn't thinking of someone like me who isn't always sure which end of a hammer to use.



 So I took his advice and asked Ryan to design and construct me a pond cover, netting on top so the pond can "breathe," plastic on the sides so the leaves can slide off.






I'm pleased with the result. My pond is now protected from the annual leaf assault. Once the leaves are all down for this year, we'll dismantle and store the cover until next fall.






For now, I happily sit back and watch the large maple leaves happily fall where they may.












November 3, 2015

Fitting end to a well-lived day:

writing stories in the morning,

raking leaves in the afternoon

--occasionally stopping to scribble down ideas raked up with the leaves--

when suddenly I note the light has gone.

One bright cloud in a graying sky

shines there like a beacon:

"This day signing off."