Alexandersmap

    Tag: October

    • Kingdoms Fall

      October and the trees are stripped bare
      Of all they wear
      What do I care?
      October and kingdoms rise
      And kingdoms fall
      But you go on
      And on
      — U2, October

      Inevitably, I encounter simmering rage when I listen long enough. That’s America now—rage in one form or another. It’s everywhere. Yes, common at the extremes on both sides, but creeping more and more into the middle. An even keel is hard to maintain in a tumultuous sea. We are in the midst of a storm brought on by profiteers and pirates. Bastards.

      If I sound distant from the rage myself, well, it’s a deliberate act to remove myself from the storm. Maybe there are no safe harbors in a storm like this, but we ought to find places of refuge to take stock of where we are, what we stand for, who we want to be and what we want to be remembered as one day when all of this is being cleaned up and analyzed by future generations. Those of us who reside in the middle keep this ship from capsizing. We choose whether the scales will be forever tipped.

      It’s October. Peak foliage days before it all falls away and all that we are left with are memories of what was and what might have been if we’d only paid more attention. Seasons come and go. All that will be left of us one day is what we choose to leave behind.

    • The Penance of Autumn

      O hushed October morning mild,
      Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
      Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
      Should waste them all.
      The crows above the forest call;
      Tomorrow they may form and go.
      O hushed October morning mild,
      Begin the hours of this day slow.
      Make the day seem to us less brief.
      Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
      Beguile us in the way you know.
      Release one leaf at break of day;
      At noon release another leaf;
      One from our trees, one far away.
      Retard the sun with gentle mist;
      Enchant the land with amethyst.
      Slow, slow!
      For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
      Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
      Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
      For the grapes’ sake along the wall.
      — Robert Frost, October

      As this is published on the 1st of October, the foggy world outside makes me feel I’m living in Frost’s poem. Small wonder, as he wrote it just up the road a bit. The aroma of ripe grapes is fading now, but we can still smell them on evening walks. Acorns rain from the trees, crashing through the canopy and thumping to the ground. This is another bumper crop year for the oaks, and the acorn performance follows just after the hickory nuts. To live amongst the trees in this time is to risk all. Only the foolhardy would stroll barefoot now.

      With the nuts come the collectors. Squirrels and deer, wild turkey and chipmunks work the harvest. Some in turn become the harvest as the hawks, owls and fox move amongst the trees looking for an easy mark. The pup works to chase all intruders from the yard, but it’s like trying to hold back the tide. In a few weeks it will all be over, acorns stored for winter by the rodents and the rest raked up ahead of the leaves. This is the penance of autumn in the woods of New Hampshire.

      To live here amongst the trees is to forever be a servant to the detritus they drop. They were here well before I was, they remind me, and they’ll be here until I one day leave this place, I remind them. That was our bargain, but they do love to abuse the current resident. To live life as a poem is not simply watching sunsets capping the days while whispering sweet nothings to our lovely copilot, it’s to apply sweat equity in the seasons with faith that it will be a good harvest that we may be blessed with another. We may not all be farmers now, but we still work the land.

      They say that Robert Frost wasn’t much of a farmer, but he gave it a go anyway. His farm produced timeless poetry instead of produce, so maybe he was a better farmer than he was credited for. Eventually Frost moved away from the farm to find inspiration elsewhere. I can relate to that too, even as I reconcile myself to a few more seasons raking acorns off the lawn and tossing them into the woods. The land is good and the season generous, and all along I’ve been harvesting here too.

    • The Cover of October Skies

      Well, it’s a marvelous night for a moondance
      With the stars up above in your eyes
      A fantabulous night to make romance
      ‘Neath the cover of October skies
      And all the leaves on the trees are falling
      To the sound of the breezes that blow
      You know I’m tryin’ to please to the calling
      Of your heartstrings that play soft and low
      You know the night’s magic seems to whisper and hush
      You know the soft moonlight seems to shine in your blush
      Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?
      — Van Morrison, Moondance

      It’s no coincidence that we are drawn outdoors in October. In New Hampshire, the foliage is strikingly beautiful on some trees this year, while others have barely begun to turn. Strange what a year of near-constant rain can do to a tree’s inclination to dress up for the party. But the show must go on nonetheless, stragglers will inevitably catch up in their time. For it’s all about the shrinking days now. If leaves are the flowers of autumn, then they’re more like the blossoms of a fruit tree, announcing their time in the sun is over with a brilliant dance in the breeze on their return to the earth. Don’t we owe it to them to bear witness?

      I dwell in such things. I have a photographers eye and a philosopher’s mind, and though perhaps neither may ever be fully realized in production each sneaks out now and again. We each aspire to mastery, don’t we? Mostly I hear the call to bring the beautiful to light. It falls on people like us to keep reminding the world that it’s worth paying attention to the magic now and then in our own shrinking days.

      To reach our potential we must be attentive to every detail, and we must put ourselves in the mix. On a crisp Sunday afternoon I spent time at a four-year-old’s birthday party, gingerly holding her infant second cousin like a football, to celebrate the next generation tasked with realizing a brighter future. I spent time at a quiet graveyard, reminding those who couldn’t quite realize a full life of their own that they aren’t forgotten. That they did enough. The two sides of the spectrum dancing under the cover of the same brilliant October sky. Some leaves shine golden in their time, some have arrived back to earth. We are the witnesses to each, biding our time on a quest for mastery.

    • A Day of Reckoning in Autumnal Sunshine

      “I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.” ― Nathaniel Hawthorne, The American Notebooks

      I write this knowing what awaits me. Today is the day of reckoning for a lover of trees. For in late October we turn our eyes from the skies to the work at hand, and sweat and toil to relocate those countless, blessed fallen leaves from the yard and place them with their kin in the woods. This process will repeat itself several times before it’s done, and this writer will bow to the trees in the order of their fall; the maple and elm, hickory and oak, even the pine sheds itself of old needles. Autumn is called fall for a reason, after all, so fall they must.

      My secret is a fondness for such labor. It’s a workout to be sure, but work that fills the soul, as weeding or washing dishes fills the soul when meditated upon in the moment. Our singular focus on any one thing is preciously rare in this world of sound bites and notifications. Leave the phone behind and get back to the work—and find yourself in the process.

      There will be no rider mower efficiency in this work. I made the choice to walk my lawn when mowing a few years ago, and don’t regret it. There is a soreness that offers solace on a crisp October day, earned through such moments wrestling fallen leaves. If this seems wonderful to you, come celebrate with me. For there are more than enough leaves to share, and only so much autumnal sunshine to work with.

    • Words Spoken Around Embers

      Burnt wood has bared witness to many songs sung
      Warmed up the hands
      And the hearts of the young
      And the old gather round
      Till the flames are all done
      Passing down their words of wisdom
      — Caamp, Of Love and Life

      For all the beauty of October days and the march of amber and crimson southward, it’s the crispness in the air that makes the month resonate. You aren’t just seeing October—you feel it. But crisp air takes on a little bite when the sun drops below the horizon and the last glow of orange and pink fade in the clouds above. This is when we turn our eyes downward, and make our own orange glow, fed with fallen twigs and split wood and tales of days gone by and times we hope will come. October is a time for campfires and conversation.

      There are no perfect days, but somehow we are able to string just enough moments together to make it feel like there is. We ought to find time outdoors with nature, to contemplate things more profoundly timeless and patient than we are. We ought to use our time for productive work that calls to us, be it writing or yard work or something that pays the bills in fair trade for our precious hours. And we ought to spend time with those who round us out and make us feel a part of something bigger than ourselves.

      Gathering around a fire is nothing new, it’s been a part of human existence long enough that we might as well call it the beginning. Conversations inevitably roar with the biggest flames. But when those flames have died down the orange embers speak to you, if you listen to them. This is when conversations become hushed, and the co-conspirators of living draw upon magic. The stars above remind us that time is a uniquely human construct, something we reconcile in such moments with embers. On this spinning globe, living is seasonal. The fire transforms just as the seasons do, just as we do, and we become one with the universe.

      This is October to me.

    • The Enchantment in Brevity

      It is the season of migrants
      flying at night feeling the turning earth
      beneath them
      — W. S. Merwin, Echoing Light

      You feel it all happening quickly in October. The relentless, accelerating momentum of autumn. Change is quite literally in the air: Harvests and migrations, foliage and crispy air, all point to the shrinking daylight and collectively announcing that things are different now in this part of the world.

      As it happens, you grasp at bits of it to attempt to lock them into your memories. It’s a lot like the last few conversations you’ll have with a loved one who doesn’t have much time left to live—each little gesture, each sentence uttered, are amplified in meaning. It’s now or never, you think. But it’s always now or never, isn’t it?

      The earth is turning beneath us, moving us away from the sun. There’s something bewitching in the air, disguised in reds and oranges and yellows, and in the determined cacophony of migration above. There is enchantment in this brevity. Our days grow shorter every morning, yet it’s never felt so good to be alive.

    • A Sprinkling of Alive Time

      “Is life too short to be taking this shit, or is life too short to be minding it?” – Violet Weingarten

      I spent part of the morning walking in the woods, seeking out the quiet reflections on an inky black pond nearby. October makes those reflections particularly brilliant and I wondered at my solitude with the water and foliage. Tourists drive so far to see the colors of fall, when it might be hiding in plain sight just through the woods.

      October brings a gift to those who wander outside in New England. To stay inside seems unforgivable for those of us who seek the truth in the palette. Life isn’t meant to be lived in shades of grey, so why must we limit perspective on the world? Yet I found myself inside for most of the afternoon yesterday, in a room with a grey color palette, tackling projects that a family member fighting cancer is unable to tackle.

      I was happy to do it. To contribute in whatever way I could. I’ve seen too much of this lately. The C word. The stealer of dreams. What are we to do with it but decide how to live with the options it leaves you? My gift for the patient was my time and a bit of applied skill to fix some lingering problems in the house. Were I able to fix everything.

      Sundays in October offer another gift, the gift of sports. The pursuit of athletic excellence in your chosen sport. In New England we have many choices in October: The Head-of-the-Charles regatta, college sports, pre-season Bruins and Celtics, the second month of football with the Patriots, the postseason with the Red Sox, and unique for 2021, the Boston Marathon run in October instead of April. That’s a lot to choose from if you enjoy sports. In my family we enjoy sports.

      So I didn’t mind watching the Patriots game out of the corner of my eye while working under the kitchen sink. I didn’t even mind the two trips to the local box store for supplies, because the radio play-by-play guys were better than the national television play-by-play guys. Professional sports are a very nice distraction from the cold reality of managing cancer instead of eliminating it. And the Patriots and Red Sox served up a couple of nice wins when the family needed them. They collectively watched the ebb and flow of the games, focused on something besides the elephant in the room.

      Memento Mori. We all must die. But accepting that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t fight like hell for our alive time while we have it. To sparkle in brilliant vibrancy in the face of the long truth. On a sparkling day of foliage and athletic performance, we celebrated our alive time for the gift that it is.

    • The Changes You Take Yourself Through

      Everybody needs a change
      A chance to check out the new
      But you’re the only one to see
      The changes you take yourself through
      – Stevie Wonder, Don’t You Worry About A Thing

      In New England, October is the time of tangible, visible change. The world transforms around you in such strikingly obvious ways that even the most inward-facing among us look up and see it. The days get shorter and darker, the air crisp and demanding of attention, and of course the leaves paint the landscape in an explosion of color. No wonder this is the time of year most people who live here point to as their favorite.

      It seems a good time to celebrate change. The incremental changes we see around us are also happening within us. We grow incrementally better or worse, depending on our focus and applied effort. And because we’re humans you might make tangible progress in one area while you slide a bit sideways in another. Such is life.

      When you write and publish every single day you force yourself to become a keen observer. And you become more efficient in putting thought to paper (or onto the screen and whatever database in the Cloud they take up residence in). Sometimes you’re the only one to see the changes you take yourself through, and sometimes a percentage of the world takes notice. The only part that’s important is that you take yourself through it to see where you go next.

      Change. We get so caught up in getting there that we forget to celebrate here. Dance in the moment that you recognize that life is this short wonderful eruption of thought and emotion and transformation. Maybe turn the volume up a bit more today. For there’s urgency in the air. Celebrate where you are. You’ve come so far already.