Welcome Autumn

"...as leaves // preserve the tree by learning / to relinquish it." --Linda Gregorson, "Elegant"

It is the first official day of autumn. Sunlight glows through the chill. My neighbor boys scamper around our house in jackets and loud voices. Buses heave with the onslaught of school, responsibility, and the distant idea of holiday. Sharpened #2 pencils all around. Levi wears long sleeves and footies. He stares at his feet and grabs his bib. He rolls over and passes me a shocked expression, particularly when I shriek in delight. Levi is my little leaf--strange that we are preserved by our posterity, and yet in a few generations my posterity may only have a vague memory of me. Will I still be "preserved"?

Autumn is my favorite season. I wish I could live in a perpetual autumn. It even smells like poetry.

In October, I am allowed all the ice cream I want to celebrate the sweet reality of autumn. Last night we made anniversary cookies (so named since my parents served them at their wedding reception and Mom makes them every August 22. I've decided to glom onto the tradition since I made hundreds and hundreds of them for our casual gathering. A bit late to mark our two years, but why not start now?). Wes frosted the wafers as I bathed Levi. The little bug gazed contentedly at us. He doesn't notice the mold. He doesn't care about the crammed space. Windows surprise him. Despite my inclination to be continually unsatisfied, I looked at my two men and thought, "Can it really be any better than this?" Perhaps autumn will tell.

For the last month or so I've been thinking about Jonah. I used to think he was silly for trying to run away from God and his calling. Starting to believe his instinct is understandable. He knew he could not escape, but he knew he could choose his own path, and perhaps he wanted to see how long he could delay what he knew was right. Procrastination? Righteous resistance? Mere pride and short sightedness? I don't like arguing with God; it's much worse than being digested alive. There are days I wish I could dwell in the belly of a whale, when I say please please swallow me. But I don't think I need to trace the intestinal tract of a sea monster or be spewed upon the land I deserted to be grateful for each breath, grateful that guidance comes my way.

Welcome Autumn. I'll sing the psalms with you.