Awake and alone in the soft early light to meditate, watching the flickering warmth from the candles. I don't try to hold still today, but walk slowly back and forth across the front room. Outside, morning filters through dark green, red, gold: the glinting blade of autumn pierces me straight through.
If it happened only once in the season, you'd survive and even forget, I suppose, but this northern martyrdom happens daily -- parry, thrust -- sharp clean pain tempering to dull persistent ache, no longer rejected nor feared: the ache of longing, loss, beauty, remembered love.
To feel the suffering of the world was never something I asked for or wanted, but now, in middle age, it's become ordinary. Fifty autumns have taught me about the green curvature of human hope, the bounce of humor's net. The white heart hiding beneath layers of courageous leaves.
Ah, this is poetry! And such an amazing image and beautiful photo, Beth.
Posted by: marja-leena | October 08, 2008 at 11:07 AM
Cabbage as a metaphor, and a very beautiful one :-)
Your words no joke, and yes I know what you are speaking of.
Posted by: Jean | October 08, 2008 at 11:37 AM
Beth: this is powerful writing, evocative and sad yet full of hope.
Posted by: Pica | October 08, 2008 at 12:48 PM
(o)
Posted by: dale | October 08, 2008 at 12:50 PM
Very beautiful
Posted by: Tall Girl | October 08, 2008 at 01:54 PM
Gorgeous, Beth, utterly. And something I very much needed to read tonight, visiting as I am the unfamiliar southeast where Spanish moss hangs from trees and the air is damp and warm. Love to you.
Posted by: Rachel Barenblat | October 08, 2008 at 03:05 PM
Yes, this is poetry, or prose-poetry. You are working on your writing, working on language to make it meaningful rather than descriptive. You are also writing your life, a meditation on the daily details so that they become meaningful ... like an icon.
Posted by: -s | October 08, 2008 at 08:40 PM
Great post, Beth - the photo too.
Posted by: Dave | October 08, 2008 at 09:56 PM
Ah, Beth; so touching. I want to reach out and share your pain.
Posted by: Kaycie | October 08, 2008 at 11:06 PM
In southern Missouri this is a hopeful season. Nature becomes hospitable again, after the pestilence of summer's heat and biting insects (chiggers and ticks) who have held us prisoner inside our lawn.. Work becomes pleasant again, possible. The cool floats me. I've been halted by the velcro of summer's friction. Now that it has been torn away I can sense how I've been impeded. I slide now on runners of ice. It feels great to move. Winds have come up.
Posted by: Bill | October 09, 2008 at 08:03 AM
Yes yes yes yess and yes. Thanks so much for this.
FA
Posted by: Teresa Gilman | October 09, 2008 at 10:41 AM
Tena koe Beth,
Beautiful and timely. Kia ora.
Rangimarie,
Robb
Posted by: Robb | October 09, 2008 at 08:43 PM
With writing of this quality, you ought to be submitting to qarrtsiluni, Beth!
And the feeling that you capture so beautifully intensifies...
Posted by: Dick | October 10, 2008 at 02:17 AM
>>To feel the suffering of the world was never something I asked for or wanted, but now, in middle age, it's become ordinary.
Yes. And how amazing that this should be so for so many of us.
Your piece has been with me since you've posted. And look at those Savoys!
Posted by: Tori | October 10, 2008 at 07:40 PM
Beautiful.
Posted by: Lucy | October 11, 2008 at 09:19 AM
This post seems to me like a wonderful example of wabi-sabi (what I understand of that term). Here we're in the opposite season, yet this feeling's been haunting me lately. Great writing, Beth.
Posted by: pohanginapete | October 13, 2008 at 12:54 AM