Into fall

Posted by on 09.17.10 | No Comments
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I was told the other night, by a seven year old boy-

a wild, curly-haired, feral kind of boy-

that my newborn smelled like ice popsicles.

Ice popsicles. What a strange comment.

I nestled my nose down into my baby’s head and breathed.

That indefinable baby smell was exactly those popsicles that come out of their white paper sleeves dry and cold from the freezer with small ice crystals.

What a strange place to find this revelation, this quality of careful listening to the world, in this tameless boy poet.

“In summer, the song sings itself,” said William Carlos Williams.

Not so in fall, which is thick and brown with introversion and inspiration, like the innards of a mud clod, the warm digestion of a compost mound, the guts of a chocolate truffle, ganache. Fall, waiting with its crisp nights and pie-making days, to catalyze delicious introspection, meditation,transformation. Not a reflection mired in stagnation, but in creation. Like the mushrooms that draw on their far-flung tangle of mychorrizal roots to push to daylight through the duff in varied and fantastical form. Fall is reaching into the heart of the harvest to find the wisdom to create.

I wonder what revelations I will find in strange packages this fall.

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