An October World

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. . . Look at these maple branches. Don’t they give you a thrill—several thrills? I’m going to decorate my room with them.”

—Anne Shirley in Anne of Green Gables

Yes, Anne... They give me several thrills, friend. I have delighted in this maple tree outside of my office turning aflame with autumn glory in the last week or so. A stiff wind and some chilly rain are likely denuding it this evening, but I'm thankful to have caught both this morning's glory (above) and a late afternoon burst of gold over the weekend (below).

How right Robert Frost was when he said, "Nothing gold can stay."

Nature’s first green is gold,

Her hardest hue to hold.

Her early leaf’s a flower;

But only so an hour.

Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay.

— R. F.

October has been marked by ephemeral gold, amber, and crimson leaves. By a Harry Potter songlist played over and over, and by a full moon, huge and shrouded by misty clouds. By hikes in autumn air and walks under the stars. By blueberry wine and questions about verbing out one's name, one's self. By nights watching the Anne films with Tosha, Lynnette, and David. By eating far more pumpkin and apple things than I should have. And by the reading of Emily of New Moon.

 

But in my quieter moments—though those have been too few—October has marked 14 years since Summit Semester and our fabulous Farvest Hall. Fourteen years since Amadeus in Denver, the Cheesecake Factory, and a visit to The Tattered Cover. Fourteen years since I began forging a deeper bond with Aaron, Reese, Chels, and Stephen. Sometimes in the autumn the grief hits hard, but this year the weeks have been full of friends visiting, of small group nights, of evenings talking with Nick, of films or reading or trying to catch up correspondence. 

This autumn has been happy, which has surprised me again and again. For so long I didn't expect to ever again be fully glad that it doesn't seem possible. Of course, there are sad things, hard things, even ugly things. But they feel small right now. The shadow is a passing thing and light and high beauty are beyond its reach. 

Granted, the days used to seem longer, always with room to write letters or e-mails... And now they seem ever-too-short, but the people are there in the days—real, present. No more being long-distanced from everyone (though I'm still long-distanced from too many!), now I live in a place where I have graciously been gifted a good, thoughtful, loving community—at work, at church, and with various friends.  I want to share that community as I can and as I should. And I long to hold on to quiet space and room for pouring my heart out to the Lord...and for listening to Him. It is a balance, especially when my mind is so full from each day and each week. 

I hold all of these things—beauty, community, words, gladness, truth—loosely in my slightly curled hand. Fourteen years ago life was nearly perfect, too...and then came dark, dark days. And years later, deep, dark nights for my aching soul. Seasons ebb and flow, rise and fall. There are no guarantees that either the good times or the hard times will last forever. So, I am thankful for the love, beauty, and safety I have experienced this year. 

Not knowing what any future moments or days hold, I receive the now as gift, trying to learn not to grasp (and in so doing, strangle out the life of the beautiful things God has granted). As I have just journeyed through the wilderness, the precipice injury (and many other places on the way to the High Places with Much Afraid and her companions, Sorrow and Suffering), I find that I am still trying to learn the very first letter in the Alphabet of Love: Acceptance with joy. Still, many more years down the road from the first time I read the book. Why am I still at letter one? I don't know, but it's where I find myself. So, there I will continue to try to open-handedly accept with joy, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Nothing gold can stay...not yet, anyway. But one day, the New Kingdom will come down and marry earth. And then, perhaps, we will have an everlasting autumn (with sunflowers and daffodils, too) where gold can stay. It sounds like an October world to me, which is a deep delight to my soul!

Hiking and Hitchhiking

This weekend, I went hiking (and hitchhiking) with Tosha-the-Brave. 

Here we are looking chipper, the two-ish miles of steep uphill accomplished and all that gorgeous colour and all those towering mountains around us for the next six-ish miles.

The day began sunny and hazy from wildfire smoke. . . But as we climbed, the sky grew dark and foreboding. Not truly foreboding—Tosha and I just both love that word. But the clouds did roll in for a good portion of our hike, making it the perfect temperature.

We met some nice folks at the trailhead who offered to give us a ride back to our car, as "Lost Man Loop" is a bit of a misnomer. It is really Lost Man Horseshoe, with a four mile stretch of winding Independence Pass road (with no shoulder) between trailheads. . . or is that trail tails? Either way, we were thankful for the offer. It ended up some other folks let us ride in the bed of their pickup, which was great fun (albeit, a little breezy).

Here we are post-hike and post hitchhike, on the home-side of Independence Pass. We saw a road that was parked up and down and was full of golden Aspens. So, of course we turned around and explored it!

I'm always grateful for Tosha's encouragement (and patience) while hiking. We had a lovely day together in God's glorious autumn colours! And we were both thankful that He provided kind people to hike with and ride with, as well. 

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay

—Robert Frost

*All photos taken by Tosha-the-Brave

Autumn: Nothing Gold Can Stay

September is my favourite month. The days are sunny and warm with a nip in the air. The nights are chilly, allowing me to snuggle under my down comforter. Most of the trees here in the foothills are still green, but oft their edges are tipped with gold, their hardest hue to hold, as Mr. Frost so aptly penned.

This morning the sun chased me from under my warm nest of covers. I slipped outside as the Morning Star illumined the yellow leaves of a tree that had turned early. My eyes lingered on the half-green, half-amber dryads lining the river. A gilded stream of leaves coursed through the channel along the sidewalk. The chill breeze chased the citron leaves along the street, their frail frames scuttling the direction I, too, traversed. They chased me like an unbidden memory invades the present. I let them come. Indeed, I hardly had the power to stop their swirling dance any more than I could quell an impetuous memory.

Freshness hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of crunching leaves. Sunshine filtered through the torn cotton clouds and settled on the distant Pike's Peak, crowning it with gold. But even the gold of early dawn could not long tarry, and neither could I. I dropped my letters in the post box and made for home, eager to read the next chapter in Orthodoxy; but that is a topic for another post.

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

~ Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost

You Come Too: Lessons from Poetry

To the Cuckoo

O blithe newcomer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice:
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering Voice?

While I am lying on the grass
Thy twofold shout I hear;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near.

Though babbling only to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.

Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring!
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery;

The same whom in my schoolboy days
I listened to; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love;
Still longed for, never seen!

And I can listen to thee yet;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.

O blessed birth! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for Thee!

~ William Wordsworth

"Thou bringest unto me a tale / Of visionary hours." Wordsworth writes this of the cuckoo's call, yet he is doing the very same thing through his poem.

The whole poem is a tale of vision, bringing the reader's mind up and into the light. Wordsworth's poem gives one's mind the wings to flit through the air and momentarily forget any troubles that might be weighing him to the ground. "And I can listen to thee yet; / Can lie upon the plain / And listen, till I do beget / That golden time again."

This aspect of 'transportation' in poetry is precisely why one should read it. Poetry - indeed, good literature as well - has the ability to bring one out of one's self to think and feel things that ordinary life may not have yet taught him. I find that I learn much about the wide world, about good character, about hope, about sorrow, about love, about death, about Life woven through the lines of poetry and prose. You may do the same, 'You come too.' *

~ Johanna

*The Pasture, by Robert Frost