Seasons

Autumn arrived today.

As I gazed out of the kitchen window, the river had a steel quality about it and the trees wore a morosely faded coat of ageing leaves, struggling desperately to cling on to their Summer glory. There was a strange mix of people walking by: some stubbornly retaining their shorts and tee shirts, almost as a swansong to the fading glory of Summer, whilst other obviously accepted its inevitable demise.

Spring and Autumn have always meant a lot to me. I long for the lengthening evenings of Spring, get excitement from the newly-clothed trees and bushes and bask in the warmth of the sun; all of which fill me with optimism and hope. Autumn has always signified a sadness at the death of that hope and provides a hiatus between the glories of Summer and the crispness of Winter. bringing, as it does, the excitement of Christmas and the enveloping security of warm rooms, cosy clothes and womb-like comfort.

I remember several years ago, being asked to write a poem of optimism. I sat in a beautiful garden, bathed in sunlight and surrounded by freshly budding flowers and started to write. Of course, I couldn't quite fulfil the remit but that's me. Here it is:

Springtime

Buds of green bursting through the shredded remains of Winter,
Casting off the slough of despair and bringing promise of the future.
Creating life from death.

Pulling down the warmth from the skies
Like shy children peering round a curtain.

At first, reluctant
But then, gathering courage and, forgetting all,
Invading their new surroundings
With raucous colour and abandonment.

These first bright splashes -
How do they fight the dank gloom of Winter?
What makes them battle on regardless of the odds?
Is it hope?
Or just the hate of hopelessness,
The thirst for life that Nature has endowed?

Can it be that I will bloom once more
Or wither like the vanguard?
Using my life so that others may live again.

I think that if I did a poem about Autumn it would be extremely self-examining at the moment. No particular reason, the day's been fine with no hassles but there you go. That's the person I am and I am pretty sure that tomorrow will be a whole new ball-game.

Summer is my season and my words can't possibly pay enough tribute to the way that Summer warms my soul. French authoress, Violette Leduc, described it thus:
I walk without flinching through the burning cathedral of the summer. My bank of wild grass is majestic and full of music. It is a fire that solitude presses against my lips.

I can't lay claim to carrying all sorts of quotable quotes in my head and have to say I looked for something appropriate and that certainly seemed to fit the bill. One that I do remember, however, is from Albert Camus. It's something that I value and aspire to:

In the depths of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
One day perhaps, I'll find out its context......who knows what secrets it might reveal?



© BertieBassett Enterprises Inc. 2007