A couple of weeks ago, daughter Kareema took the picture above of the witch hazel blooming in the side yard. You can hear the flower pod pop open if you are standing near the shrub at the right moment.
She took this one today. We had a heavy frost on Sunday morning that caused most of the remaining leaves to fall off their trees. (Neighbor Mike probably is not happy with the winds we've had after that, which blew a good third of my leaves into his yard. Mike cut down all the trees in his yard, including my favorite, a ginkgo, several years ago because he hates leaves. I feel so sorry for the wind-deposit into his yard...not!)
I noticed how brown and withered the leaves are this morning, and was reminded of Robert Frost's poem, "Reluctance," which follows:
I noticed how brown and withered the leaves are this morning, and was reminded of Robert Frost's poem, "Reluctance," which follows:
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question “Whither?”
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world, and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question “Whither?”
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?
...
Robert Frost (1874-1963)
American poet
(c) 2009 photos by Kareema Griest, text Martha McLemore
11 comments:
I feel very calm after reading that. No a bad way to start a Friday. Thank you.
Steve:
I'm glad you've enjoyed Frost's poem. It seemed appropriate for the day.
I'll take calm over chaos any time, too.
:D
"To go with the drift of things..."
That makes "go with the flow" sound so trite, somehow. Thank you for reminding me to put Frost on my list.
It was my pleasure, Kali; you're welcome. He's so different in mood and timbre than Poe, whom I also like.
I have neglected American poets for too many years. I have a good bit of catching up to do.
:)
What a lovely read, I don't know that one.
Fancy that man cutting down a gingko tree...
The sideyard. Not many people know they have those much anymore. The sideyard was one of my fave coffee drinking places in the early of the morning, back when I had a yard of any description.
See, things are looking up. The leaf-bearing wind was driven by a benign deity - lifts crows aloft while punishing gingko murderers. Should it come to a shoot-out, ask him to identify each individual leaf as yours.
Lucy:
I know! What makes this sad tale even more outrageous is that each summer after the butchery, he puts up a big umbrella near the pool to keep out the sun that the trees did for free. Go figure.
:)
Jim:
Side yard might be a Southern thing. I've lived in Yankee-land - uh...up north - now for almost half my life and I've never heard anyone else say side yard.
They also don't know what a shotgun house is, either. (I didn't either, though, until we moved to New Orleans when I was a kid.)
I take it you've arrived home safe and sound from this most recent round of traveling for the Company? I love your Tales from the Fly-Zone.
:D
Hello, BB:
Taking a breather from writing the Hatch saga? I notice your word count keeps rising for the third chapter. Looking forward to reading what comes next.
Yes, dear friend, things have gotten better. I've had much unexpected, deeply appreciated help. The leaf-bearing wind has had a positive effect, too. I've been busy doing risk assessment, trying to develop a plan which will allow me to maximize the declining resources while reducing outflow, so Mattie/I won't become anxious as happened in late August, triggering another episode.
As for Neighbor Mike, I wouldn't put it past him to videotape my leaves as they descend from their trees onto his perfectly manicured lawn.
I make him sound like an ogre, don't I? He isn't; actually a nice guy. I just don't like that he cut down the 7 trees in his yard that I had grown to love. But, see, he's from Pittsburgh and I was told they don't have many trees there. Is that true?
:D
Danny Boy....
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