November 1-November 5 "like every other thing, a gift..."

(like every other thing, a gift...Charles Frazier in Cold Mountain)

2010-Real Indian summer follows a hard frost which we have not yet had.  But I will not argue with these last warm days.


Under a close November sky
The poetry of the apple
Red in the bare brown tree
Is sung by the eye
With the fire of orange Echinacea
Gone to purple ash.

A wind out of the twilit mountain
Pours intimations of snow
And bitter stinging
Over the still warm ground
Scattering the milkweed floss and
Rocking the apples on their stems.

Polarities chase each other onto tornadoes
Of mute foreboding
Leaving us no way to see ahead.
Is it fear makes the present
Seem so sweet
As apples embraced by frost?


2011-It turns out that it is still too early to put out the bird feeders.  I should have realized that it is not that cold and there is still plenty of food out there to be gathered--no self respecting creature would think of hibernating yet.  (The rose hips are especially plentiful this year.) I was awakened by the sound of the feeders hitting against the window as they will do when it is windy.  I watched as the new one broke free from its hook and dropped.  In retrospect it fell rather softly, but at the time I blamed myself for not securing the hook well and fell back to sleep, only to be awakened again. But this was not like wind and I realized something was out there scuffling around. Before I could think anything else I saw two huge black paws patting against the big window and then sliding down. A bear was standing on the cushion box and trying to get the other feeder down.  I jumped out of bed and banged on the window causing the bear to drop down and saunter off across the deck where it disappeared. It was a young bear but not small and the way it calmly walked away could be considered almost insolent.  At the same time, its silent silky ways were like night incarnate.  I am left with the shamanic image of a bear standing over me, paws raised.
Color worth noting; the maroon, green and yellow of the forsythia when a cardinal comes to pose there. Clashing and aggressive-wonderful.
A flock of mixed finches is going crazy scarfing down ash keys all over the deck even though they fell months ago.
2012-  A neon colony on the picnic bench, a lone inky cap appearing overnight in the middle of the lawn; there were few chanterelles this year but these recent mysterious visitations of the fungi people are intriguing. What have they come to say?