Monday Morning Musings:
“So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.”
“The sky is already purple; the first few stars have appeared, suddenly, as if someone had thrown a handful of silver across the edge of the world.”
Alice Hoffman, Here on Earth
The leaves strive to stay,
pops of color dot the landscape
brightening the grey
but falling, flying, drifting so
as autumn grows colder,
they must go
as does the day
soon the shadows lengthen
silently sliding their way
along pavement and ground
above bare branches wave
without a sound.
Violet turns midnight blue
and a glimmering filigree of light
dots the sky, like morning dew.
Twilight—this magic time
when fairy tales sprout
in the mind—and so I rhyme
Once– if tale be told–
my arm up a turkey,
the day frigid cold
I shoo away a sniffing cat
look at the bird’s freakishly long neck–
wonder what kind of dinosaur was that?*
Survival and extinction
I continue the job
I won’t eat it but some
will, it’s the family holiday deal
a mixture of traditions and love
along with the holiday meal.
And so, we gather together
unmold the cranberry squirrel—to cheers–
bask in weirdness, warmth in the cold weather.
On this night of full beaver moon
we eat, drink, laugh, and talk
though ever present the tune
of what will be and what was past,
we try to stay in the moment, mindful
that we cannot know what is cast
by the auger’s stones
our fate with the stars
unknown, until felt in our bones.
We eat leftovers for days–
and drink more wine
walk and sleep in holiday haze,
then we sleep and dream
of a million things
forgotten at dawn, the theme
who knows? I hear the birds sing
amidst November gloom–
a little winged thing
can achieve wonders, I think,
cat on a lap, a book, a cup of tea—
yes, back to food and drink.
In sunny weather, we go to see
a Swedish film, not comedy,
a fairy tale, of sorts, it seems to me
border can be taken in many ways
as can gender and eye of the beholder
much in the world and nature may amaze
a fable may hold truth—
no matter about who or what is told
shy or bold, cultured, or uncouth
Magic all around us
in glowing leaves and laughing speech
known and unknown worlds, ever thus–
And so, we talk
drink our coffee and catch our train,
then our shadows take a walk—
and soon we’re home again
to sleep under the silvered sky,
to dream of wondrous, magic things,
to ask without answers all the whys,
to hear the stars sing and to them fly.
*I read this article on Thanksgiving.
We celebrated Thanksgiving with family (missing older daughter and her wife) and friends. For those who are new, our cranberry squirrel is a beloved family tradition. The unmolding of it is part of the tradition, and this year my sister made a very funny recording of the event. We saw the Swedish movie, Border. Trailer here. As the trailer says, unlike anything you’ve ever seen. It is definitely unusual, but my husband and I liked it. Coincidentally, I’m reading a book that is also a sort of fairy tale but that is set in the area of the world where my ancestors came from. Perhaps more about that in a future post.