Stopover, Autumn

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

My late mother once commented that there is a sadness about autumn that makes her want to cry, but there is a beauty about it that deserves better so she settles for appreciating that especially as it keeps thoughts of winter at bay. "If autumn," she said, "is summer closing its eyes, they are not closed yet so we might as well enjoy its passing until such a time as winter, too, closes its eyes and is ready to open its (and ours) to the joys of another spring." She was something of a poet herself, my mum, and well as incurable romantic and as positive a thinker as I have ever known.

Now, in the late autumn of my years, I find myself better able to follow the various trails of thought she opened up for me all those years ago (she died when I was in my early 30's) regarding life, love, nature, human nature and, yes, poetry.

True, there is a sadness about autumn as much of nature prepares to sleep through another winter and recharge its batteries in readiness for another spring. At the same time, sadness for what we are about to lose inevitably triggers thoughts about just what it is we sense we are losing, to the extent that we may well invite mind-body-spirit to recover much if not all of it; invitation, accepted, the inner eye will never lose sight of anything or anyone we have ever feared losing.

There is a deeper sense of reality that transcends the physical; it is this that will always sustain us if we but let it rather than dwell on its absence. All living things die, but where any life makes a positive impact on our own, that never dies. (Nor does this have anything to do with religion; while I respect other people's religious beliefs, I subscribe to none myself, not least because I see it it is a divisive life force, and because no religion has a monopoly on the human spirit.)

I watch autumn leaves falling like tears, but shed none myself unless it is for the comfort and sheer joy of having had the seasons of my life engage with such a variety of delightful people, places, animals, whatever... more then enough to sustain me, whatever the season of my life. For this reason, I used to dread getting dementia until I realised that they are more than just memories, these past delights, they are an essential part of who we are; memory may well fade, but we ourselves remain, and all that has made us who we are lives on within us, and within any who may have shared our lives, however temporarily.

However we may view the prospect of dying, we can be sure something of us lives on in someone else. No one gets to physically follow in the footsteps of nature forever given that a time will come when our senses will not wake to another season; our spirit, however, in the sense of who we are and everything we have been to any who have played any part in our lives. big or small, that has other ideas and gets to go wherever it is invited. (A reader recently asked what I mean by 'a posthumous consciousness' to which I have often referred in other posts-poems. Hopefully this goes some way, at least, to answering the question.)


STOPOVER, AUTUMN

Evening, glancing off a leaf
like a bird on wing into time, space
and memories, the sweeter
for reminding me how once I met
with you (not by chance)
in a wood such as this, its leaves
a spectacle of red and gold,
inviting Man and Beast to engage
with autumn

Gone soon enough, leaf, bird
and twilight lending time and space
a murkiness, darkness foiled
by a canopy of stars, among them
one we wished upon
long, long ago, in the springtime
of our years, our tears
but as a passing twilight glancing
off a leaf

Enter, Sleep, a welcome respite
from the vagaries of nature, humanity
and time, affecting perceptions
glancing off personal space at first
or second hand to wing
heavenwards, much like home truths
flying shades of light and dark,
beyond measure, as good a safe house
as any

Come dawn, glancing off a leaf
like a bird on wing into time, space
and memories, the sweeter
for reminding me how once I met
with you (not by chance)
another time, another place, hearts
beating as one, you-me-us
my comfort and joy in this, the autumn
of my years

Copyright R. N. Taber, 2019