Ode to October

If only I could put music in words and emotions in pictures, I could be a poet and an artist like Anita at Castles, Crowns and Cottages.  Today her post blew my senses away, for October is a favorite month and she captured its essence.  October is so special because for the last couple years dear son visits from his home in the Wild West and for a very short week, along with his sister, we are under one roof again.  It is bliss.

The dahlias reign even when there is rain.  Only one day of rain during this visit so don’t complain.

October’s dahlias

They filled the house this week along with our chatter, reminiscing and talking of  future plans.  In one week, we try to make up for a year of not sharing the simple pleasures of being together.  On the last day we visited NYBG, a favorite spot we return to again and again, and never more beautiful than in the Autumn months when the gardens are still lush and the colors become faded and magnificent.  The water lilies still enchant and the stillness is overwhelming in the middle of a screeching metropolis.  The quiet punctuated by birdsong and the conversation of the few visitors. The new native garden beckons.  Inside the conservatory there is a spectacular show of Japanese Kiku.  ” Kiku: The Art of the Japanese Garden presents these magnificent chrysanthemums in homage to hanami, the traditional custom of enjoying the ephemeral beauty of flowers, spotlighting a centerpiece of unforgettable kiku trained to grow in a mesmerizing variety of shapes and styles.”  The white mums are from ONE plant which is trained on a form.  Unbelievable!  Here is the back of the form, so you can see how it is achieved.  Walking through the gardens at NYBG was such a joy, and bittersweet because the next stop was JFK airport.  Time to send the son back to the place he now hangs his hat, but for a week, we were all home together.  

When sadness tries to steal away the memory of a happy homecoming, read poems and revisit that walk through beautiful gardens.  Nature restores and frees the soul.

The Peace of Wild Things

BY WENDELL BERRY

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

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