the air is a little chillier and the mornings touched by drops of rain that crept in during the night - it must be autumn!
November
Lynn Ungar
Is there anything left to be said
about the blaze of autumn leaves—
the way they let go with such graciousness,
how they dance on the wind
and crunch under the feet and glow
in the afternoon light? Maybe just this:
The colors fade. They turn sodden, a
milky cereal in the gutters and sidewalk.
The trees look tattered, and then
vulnerable and exposed. It turns out
that loss is really loss. Which is every bit
as much a part of the story as
autumn’s glamor. Listen.
You are not obliged to be beautiful.
You don’t have to shine.
Blooming will happen when it happens.
If you can be still for a moment
you might notice
that the roots that feed you
are still reaching silently through the dark.
Our friend, Marshall Lyles, has muscular dystrophy. He suffers, he cares for others, and experiences what it is to walk in this world in this condition. He's doing something about it, about the language of it. I am so grateful. (You can scroll through slowly with the help of the arrows.)
