The Sweet Autumn clematis that festooned the trellis with small glossy leaves all summer has burst into blossom. Swarmed by bees, its tiny, star-like flowers give off a heady aroma of vanilla and clove. In another few weeks, these flowers will morph into clouds of fluffy silver seed heads. The mint and basil in the herb garden have already bolted, sending up soft purple plumes, studded with golden seeds. In the wildflower field, the pods of the milk weed have burst their seams, letting loose their silky filaments into the air. And all day long you can hear the sound of acorns dropping from the stand of towering oaks – hard little self-contained embryos seeking fertile ground. Though the garden appears to be dying back, it’s actually a time of rapid transformation when so many plants – in a last great burst of energy – rush to propagate themselves as the colder days set in.
Fall
Mary Oliver
the black oaks fling
their bronze fruit
into all the pockets of the earth
pock pock
they knock against the thresholds
the roof the sidewalk
fill the eaves
the bottom line
of the old gold song
of the almost finished year
what is spring all that tender
green stuff
compared to this
falling of tiny oak trees
out of the oak trees
then the clouds
gathering thick along the west
then advancing
then closing over
breaking open
the silence
then the rain
dashing its silver seeds
against the house
I love the poetry of Mary Oliver and also love what you wrote about the acorns and flowers and plants in this lovely time of year.
Thanks, Cheryl. I bet the fall colors are nearly at their peak in Maine now. Must be beautiful!
Oh THAT is what I keep seeing, and sniffing, along the fence of the Jefferson Market Garden!
Yep, I think that’s what you’re probably seeing — it can grow to enormous lengths!
Barry AWOTC
Your garden sounds amazing, no wonder you like to write in it.
Much better than my couch.
You could try starting a couch garden. There are garden “beds” after all. Why not a garden couch?
What a beautifully written essay about this time of year. Thank you for capturing its sensual delights. I seem to remember debating once with an old friend of mine, which was better, autumn or spring, and she definitely had an edge with autumn, though I took the side of spring. Your careful observations still hold true, old friend.
Thanks, Patty. I remember that debate, as well, but I’m willing to love every season now — except perhaps March.
You actually may have converted me to being an Autumn lover!
Beata
Thank you, Beata. I know fall has never been your favorite — so I’m glad to hear this helped a bit!
You’ve captured the magic as summer turns into fall!
What a generous thing to say, Carole. Thank you!
Beautiful essay and poem. It just seems spring to fall is so short a period. I love the idea of nature hurrying to propagate itself.