Transitions and Letting Go

October 29th was a day of transition. I rolled out of bed at about 6:45 a.m. and quietly made my way to the office in the fading darkness. I glanced out the window before doing my Tai Chi routine and meditating. Fresh snow blanketed the deck and this container of petunias. For a few minutes I sat and reflected on how over night autumn transitioned into winter. Carl Sandburg's poem captures the moment.

Autumn Movement

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

As the day passed winter slowly transitioned back into autumn. The warm brilliant sun continued melting the snow as I walked in the afternoon under a brilliant blue sky. The contrasting red and white in this picture captures both seasons I experienced and enjoyed during my walk.

I also happened to notice the last of this Fall's raspberries as I passed a patch that spilled over the white picket fence near the sidewalk. The ripe berries caught my attention.

 As I finished enjoying the tart berries and returned to continue my walk,  a flock of migrating Robbins snacking on crab apples on a nearby tree caught my attention. Some were this year's off springs, perhaps on their first passage south.

Many Robbins scampered away only to return to the feast after I passed.They were not ready to move on. Yet I bet they understand the message meant for us in Walterrean Salley's poem.

Summer's passed already,

October’s nearing the end.

Trees are gently balding-

Leaves riding the wind.

On the great “fall” canvas,

Colors begin to change—

From plush green to red,

Yellow, brown and orange.

The sun will soon hide

As the chill settles in.

Then the cold will roar—

Nipping at the chin.

Unpack the boots and scarves,

The sweaters and the tights;

Prepare to “settle in”

For some long wintry nights.

Late October is also transition time for Prospect Gardens.  During the morning of October 18th, this small crew of Amy, to my left, and Ann R. to my right, along with my wife, Ann prepared the Gardens to "settle in for some long wintry nights."   After two hours we accomplished our goal with a break to enjoy Ann's homemade pumpkin bread. 

Thank you all for your help. Together we shared a beautiful autumn day.

I now wait for more snow to protect the Gardens from the inevitable freezing cold.  A few more sunny autumn days would be appreciated. Another walk in the arboretum or a stroll on  Picnic Point would be pleasant. Perhaps a Babcock ice cream cone?  I would favor a Michael's Custard, but unfortunately the one across from our apartment has permanently closed. Ann and I often lunched at Michael's after working in the Gardens. 

The large "For Lease" sign makes me sad as does the reason why Michael's closed. It's gone because of how immigration laws are now enforced. Owner Michael Dix's spouse, Sergio De La O Hernandez, is an undocumented immigrant in the United States for thirty years.They married in 2015.  Hernandez manged daily operations at the Monroe Street store. Dix sponsored Hernandez for a U.S. visa so Hernandez could obtain legal status in the country. When Hernandez returned to his home country of Mexico last August for a visa interview, he was denied the visa and denied re-entry into the United States.

And so Michael's Custard, a thirty year old Monroe Street fixture, transitions into the unknown, nothing compared to what Michael and Sergio face. Perhaps as this final poem on autumn suggests, letting go and facing the unknown are more of autumn's messages. The author, Rev. David Bumbaugh, is Unitarian Universalist minister who once served a Summit New Jersey congregation. 

Dancing in the Wind

Except for a few stubborn holdouts

the tree outside my window

is bare of leaves.

The wind,

this October morning,

worries those few remaining leaves,

pulling them this way,

twisting them that way,

tugging at them

until, one by one,

exhausted by the ceaseless effort to hang on,

they go dancing with the wind.

As they waltz past my window,

the stubbornness has left them

and they are finally free.

What is it about living things

that we expend so much energy resisting the inevitable,

hanging on to that which is already gone,

hoping to sustain a season

into times that are unseasonable,

clinging to old habits

despite the pain and the discomfort?

Why are we so afraid to dance in the wind?

May you dance in the winds of all seasons. In the meantime, the orange fences, like this one that Ann and I put up last Friday, the 25th, await the snow and winds of winter. As in years past, they will signal city snow removal crews not to push snow into the Gardens. 

This year is the tenth anniversary for the Prospect Gardens. Forty seasons have passed.Winter, the season of solitude, is once again upon us.   

Peace be with you.