the first maple tree

The first maple tree has ignited
soon the others will bow
to peer pressure and immolate
themselves and cover the sidewalks
in confetti that will grind itself
 away in
the wind
into ashes
and dust
and winter
will come to hide it all away.

after the winter

This bleeding

heartbreaking
as it is

is a sign
that your body

is still
alive

after the winter.

Nostalgia in advance

When you are going to leave a place, do you get nostalgic in advance?  For some reason, I do. 

This, I tell myself, may be the last time I own this view.  I should savor these things now, store them in memory.

Or maybe not.

This may be the last

• spring when the runoff river flows through my parking lot, covering the channel with slimy, slippery mold.  
• winter I spend roasting above the lobby, hearing and feeling the door opening and closing through my bed-attached-to-the-wall all night.
• autumn my sunlight is cut off by the south wing.
• summer I'm separated from my books.

The future is looking brighter, drier, and quieter.  :)

Sweater Migration '09

Just finished the annual process of sweater migration.  It may seem a bit early to you, but I wish I'd been able to do it two weeks ago.  All my layers are resettled, heavier ones to the bottom of the cabinets where I can reach them more easily.  The thermometer will probably only go downhill from here. 

It rained today again, the dark, drizzly, low-slung-clouds-sulking rain, and it bothered me for a bit until I saw the leaves on the sidewalk and remembered that rain and cold October days are how leaf shadows are born.  I do love leaf shadows.  I'm willing to put up with a little rain for their sakes.


What do you love about early autumn?

Memorial for a tree I loved from afar

A tree I love has died. 

It was kind of a tall, loner tree on the side of the highway, and I liked it.  Last year, it got hit by lightning, and it seemed totally dead.  I mourned for it then a little, thinking thoughts about Japanese wa and pegs that stick up too much getting hammered down (or attracting lightning or whatever).  We got some heavy snow over the winter that pulled one half of the tree down, adding insult to injury.

I was happily surprised when more than half of it came to life again this spring. 

However, the lightning strike pretty much split it in half, and too much of the trunk rotted, so even though the leaves lived furiously, the other half has fallen, too.  I don't think there's any hope for it now.


Have you ever lost any bits of your landscape?  Any pieces of nature that were special to you that aren't around any more?  What went through your mind when you found them missing?