A poem for the start of autumn: to be a witness

File:Apples on Ground (8399553959).jpg

I do not know if the seasons remember their history or if the days and
nights by which we count time remember their own passing.

I do not know if the oak tree remembers its planting or if the pine
remembers its slow climb toward sun and stars.

I do not know if the squirrel remembers last fall’s gathering or if the
bluejay remembers the meaning of snow.

I do not know if the air remembers September or if the night remembers
the moon.

I do not know if the earth remembers the flowers from last spring or if
the evergreen remembers that it shall stay so.

Perhaps that is the reason for our births — to be the memory for
creation.

Perhaps salvation is something very different than anyone ever expected.

Perhaps this will be the only question we will have to answer:
“What can you tell me about September?”

Burton D. Carley, September Meditation

photo leslie seaton

 

5 thoughts on “A poem for the start of autumn: to be a witness

  1. Wow. I grew up in SW Michigan in apple orchards. What a massive waft of nostalgia that picture is. Memories of trees and life that don’t even exist any more. They live on in my love.

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