Monday, September 22, 2014

Monday's Poetry: "September"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Today is Monday, September 22, 2014, the first day of autumn - and it is an absolutely beautiful day!  I have a new potted chrysanthemum sitting in the front yard - bronze and gold - fall colors of welcome!

The paw paws are ripe and have mostly fallen to the ground.  I enjoyed my first one yesterday and found it to be quite delicious - so much better than that other notorious Ozark fruit - the persimmon.  I also managed to snag several pears off of my lone pear tree before the deer got to them.

There is just the barest hint of fall in the air here in the Ozarks, and a few of the trees, mostly maples, have begun dropping a smattering of leaves.  I am in a rush to finish one more mowing of my immense lawn so that the leaves will have short grass to fall on and make the handling of them later on much easier to deal with.  So far I have worked on the lawn two days, and have one more long session to go.

Saturday afternoon I mowed over an underground nest of yellow jackets, and the two who popped me afterward for my impertinence, once on the inside of the knee (that's what I get for mowing in shorts) and once on the wrist, repaid me in full measure for the mess I inadvertently made of their home and their busy preparations for winter.

It's a farm, and all of us creatures who live here are focused on surviving the winter.  One of my next chores this week will be work on the ever-expanding chicken coop to insure that the girls have a fairly warm place to lay their eggs and cackle among themselves this winter.  Also, the new windows for the recently re-painted garage have arrived - more winterization!

Summer ended this morning and autumn has begun, and even though winter is still lingers off in the distance, it, too, is coming.

Below is John Updike's poem entitled September, honoring the month that links the season of growth and maturity with the season preparing for the sleep of winter.   Enjoy the whiffs of apple peel!

by John Updike

The breezes taste
Of apple peel.
The air is full
Of smells to feel-
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
Burning brush,
New books, erasers,
Chalk and such.  
The bee, his hive
Well-honeyed hum,
And Mother cuts
Like plates washed clean
With suds, the days
Are polished with
A morning haze.

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