Discovering Beauty in Everyday Life

It’s close to spring; I see it in my window box. The early morning sun creeps north, thawing at the columbine roots. We do not give life up easily. Some say Eros was the son of Iris by the West Wind. A wanton child he was, torching hearts at random with his burning golden arrows.  Some say it was the gold that did it. I came across a small pool residing in a sidewalk  (Temporarily, of course) A few fall leaves still shelter there, Wet and warm with burnished gold.

All the Way from China (replay) I have an old toy that came from China,  Animals cut from colored cloth and cotton batting Threaded with embroidery. A bird, a frog, a dragon and a dog,  One after the other on a string. It wasn’t spring then but I was there for certain. I was there when the pomegranates sold from baskets set on blankets, When wooden carts were pulled by hand,  When bicycles packed the hard roads, When people rolled and wrapped the harvest. It was fall of course, not spring.  I was there, though, for certain.

Thank goodness for all our blessing arrows tossed to this brave young sapling, for our hardy optimist stayed strong all through his second summer. Hardy is preparing for his winter sleep, as his fall sap sinks deep into his chilly roots for safekeeping.  South Reservoir Blockhouse, Eastside (2010 November)

My dreams are illusive things, perhaps, but Is it possible that I have spelt it wrong? Could it really be elusive? You see, I can’t survive all hope abandoned, That fair and pretty dream of souls connecting Illuded by the faded warp woof of missed perceptions. No, I’ll have ‘elusive’, if you please. Give me that elusive just-around-the-corner love affair. Give me Plato’s shadowed cave of outside possibilities. Hell, yes! I’ll taste that fall leaf throwing its reflection. Harlem Meer, West Side, November

I echo the day that just passed this way, with a bounce and a sigh and a squeak. Thank goodness I say today wasted away, and we’re now at the end of the week. Be that as it may, it just doesn’t pay to be waiting around for a peek At the weekend to come when Friday’s not done, and the weather forecast is so bleak. This is not very deep but I must go to sleep; it’s time to roll up the day. I went here and there and every which where, and now I am hitting the hay!

This perfect young specimen is having it's first Central Park fall.  If I were a guessing sort I'd call it Horse Chesnut.  We will definitely know in the Spring.

Rain, rain, rain. Malaise is nibbling at my fingers. It’s been fall for days now, but not a single leaf is falling. Night is falling early that’s for sure, But why no red and gold? I don’t care, really; what difference does it make? My mood has mesmerized the evening. I know it passes; all things do, but why not let us keep the candied moments? I need a summer full of ribbon grass and blue. I’d like to put a footprint in a new dimension, I’d like to empty out its time and space and plant fall promises. I’d like a little color. Would you like to share the yellow with a side of mottled green? We’ll take some fresh ground red, and could you hold the misty peach? For desert, we’ll split the rosy layer iced with burnt sienna. Cerulean to drink, I think, and don’t forget the henna.

The first crop of tulips is in the ground; happy anthropomorphic bulbs, crouching in the earth to brew their blossoms over the winter months. We planted during the intersect between the dying and the growing moon. The best of each world. Ah Balance! The daffodils are sleeping under bushes where they have thrived before, and the tulips are breaking new ground, down the hill past the lawn next to the yellow trees. One bulb lies next to the smallest tree! It’s practically invisible without the summer leaves. Each tulip patch has a daffodil as well this time, to add dash and color and company. Seven daffodils and six burgundy lace tulips. Whee!   Volunteer  not planting a tulip (next to a tiny, leafless tree)  

A year ago I broke my arm on a wet and beautiful day with golden leaves.  I came home with a foam rubber sling—awkward, blue, and huge and with small breathing holes. Finally, after tribulations, we obtained a prescription, and I brought it home looking forward to a nice pain pill. They put it into a childproof bottle. One handed, I considered a hammer and tried a wrench. Finally, I stood outside and waited for a child, who opened it for me.   To show you what it was like to walk that morning, just look. This time of year it’s just that way. Wherever we look there’s beauty.

Those crafty leaves are falling willy-nilly, and very few have actually been caught.  We have found it necessary, therefore, to  recruite a team of professionals

There’s something about a mud-puddle. They fascinate me, since they appear to be immortal. People pile on the dirt and sod, the gravel and the asphalt. Laying in wait, however, is the soul of a puddle. Who could resist a swim in a puddle? Not a sparrow, not a puppy, not a leaf.

There is nothing in this world more exhilarating. It looks easy, say they! It looks dull! It will be boring, and there will be no PBS special! Oh, but these sooth-sayers haven’t tried it lately. Your mission for today: To chase a leaf. 1. Locate a place of falling leaves, preferably with an occasional breeze. 2. Begin the chase. Your goal is to chase, not to catch! Those dainty leaves are wiley.

There are times when I cannot maneuver anymore and can’t think what to do. It comes and goes, thank goodness. I have an old friend. Time goes by without a word, then bang! There we are, back in the youth of memory. So what I do is pause. Fall is a time for the beauty of transition.  It flares and sparks and smolders away-- quietly, slowly, leaf by leaf.

Sometimes I cannot believe my luck. I was walking down this messy and disheveled street, and there it was: a tantric figure dancing in the sunlight. Who planted it? How did it survive the upheavals? How gracious that so many must have worked around  this mythic dancer nourishing it  across the years.

There isn’t anything like a New England fall, even a small piece of it. Look at the colors. There’s something about taking a bus. Have you noticed? It’s hard to describe, but the key is not to take a bus in rush hour or when in a hurry. Just hop on when you are feeling giddy. Pretend you are on a tour, and simply hop off! Near here, there’s a dusty antique shop that opens on the owner’s whim. I hadn’t been in there for several years, since I purchased an old coal bucket. Today it had a collection of lamps made from plumbing pipes. Lots of joins, lots of elbows, lots of pipe! I got out without them, but barely.

A fall day  is simpy conspiratorial.   The leaves and twigs, the  late squirrels and stiff blue sky are throwing  beauty  at us again.   Did you see those red filligried leaves with whispy points? And the striped ones and those tie-dyed ones?  How can they do it? And the fallen leaves, some dry by now.  Ok.  Do this for me:  Grab a handful of the dry and noisy leaves. Crumple them into your hands and inhale the medicine of fall.  Remember? 

Guest Post Guest post, C.M. San Francisco It is fall here too. The evening air is cool, and the wind on the bay has lost its summer force. Here native leaves do not wither in fall but slowly fade, still green, awaiting quenching winter rains to spring back their verdancy. The trees that change are mostly foreign hybrids -- sumac, maple, beech -- favoured by fussy horticulturists and nostalgic wanderers. Sometimes one turns a corner and finds a tunnel of sun-drenched yellows and resplendent reds overarching a quiet suburban street.

I found another leaf, and I refer to my Tree Field Guide for the Metropolitan Area . This probably isn’t a tricky leaf for an experienced leaf-ologist, but I have my guide and I look carefully. chapter:  Leaves alternately arranged, simple, lobed: Group 13. I find a similarly shaped leaf. “Alternate, oval or oblong 2 1/2 to 5 inch leaves [check], with 11 or more shallow to deep triangular or oblong lobes [check, 14 lobes, Check, triangular]. Central main vein [check] with secondary veins extending to lobe tips [check!]; lustrous, dark green above, downy below. Lustrous, Downey, Oh yes. Check! I have a tiny remnant of a Turkey Oak. Here's a picture. It's of an amber one, since today it is fall.

I love our magic tree. Yesterday, I finally caught the golden rain tree. It took a while, since I’ve not been vigilant lately about walking, and the magic lanterns had to turn brown before I paid attention. But when I did, I saw they are upside down pyramids more or less. I saw them as squarish in my mind. Wonderful! A fine discovery. Every day they seem more like themselves.