And just as quick as I mentioned that fall was onto us—it feels like it is here. Or, at least, it will be this week with temperatures in Michigan dipping into the 50s for the first time in months. I never put away my sweater tote, so I think I will make it (I just need to put in one order of hot cider).
I am obsessed with the theme of aging as a form of growth and today’s post is no different because with fall leaves in the air I realize that my 6th graders are now 7th graders, and my 7th graders are now 8th graders. While I have gotten one year older, they have in fact gotten much older than I have in so many ways, because they still must grow mentally and physically (and, most importantly, their intellect is expanding), whereas my physical features are now mostly unchanging, and my intellect has nowhere to go except to wade in the blobby waters of my brain. Oh well.
Enjoy today’s poem because I think even though it is about loss and the pain of despair, I feel the added flavor of autumn reminds us that things do move on and change, so we can find some comfort in getting older when each new falling leaf lands in our yard.
“Leaves Burning in the Autumn” by Ruth Gruber
Leaves burning in the autumn, burning
in the twilight of the autumn, smoke
the air with the evanescent yearning
of your lips beneath my beating throat.
Though you are dead, buried deep at least
within the mind’s cold yard of lovers,
leaves burning in the night release
the choking sorrow ; fling the futile covers
of remorse to autumn’s flame. Night
will lose its terror now, and dreams
their prophecy of loss, despite
the burial I gave you. For it seems
you will not lie there, buried in the past
while leaves are burning in the dying grass.
