I have been trying to readthe script cut in these hills—
a language carved in the shimmer of stubble
and the solid lines of soil, spoken
in the thud of apples falling
and the rasp of corn stalks finally bare.
The pheasants shout it with a rusty creak
as they gather in the fallen grain,
the blackbirds sing it
over their shoulders in parting,
and gold leaf illuminates the manuscript
where it is written in the trees.
Transcribed onto my human tongue
I believe it might sound like a lullaby,
or the simplest grace at table.
Across the gathering stillness
simply this: "For all that we have received,
dear God, make us truly grateful."
Lynn Ungar
(from Blessing the Bread)
The golden leaves in my valley are a thing of the past now, and they lie peacefully under the first exquisite snows of the season. Canadian Thanksgiving came and went some time ago, but this morning I am thinking of all you below the 49th parallel (and up in beautiful Alaska), and I extend holiday greetings to each and every one of you. Enjoy!!!
3 comments:
I always struggle how to respond because I am always touched in an unusual way from you pictures and posts....I guess thank you will have to do.
Thank you. I love the poem. Where I live, it is breezy and cool today, and the colored leaves are just now blowing off the trees. I see them skittering down the road out my window.
Thank you for this beautiful poem. Your site is a peaceful place where I can come and refresh my spirit. I'm not able to get out in nature like I used to and I appreciate your pictures, words, spirit and the poems you post very much. Thank you.
~Suzanne
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