Dust I Was...
Dust I shall become.
The days grow shorter. Here, on the prairie, one can see and feel the change. The corn that stood sky high a week ago is making acquaintance with the reaper. In the coming weeks, all the fields will morph to stubble. Redwing blackbirds that, eye blinks ago, voiced their opprobrium at my presence, the very same birds that dive-bombed me hurling insults, no longer care as I pedal by. Their fledglings have found their wings. Parenting duties fulfilled, they’ve taken to harassing hawks high in the sky. More for sport than survival, it seems.
The nights are cooler now. Windows flung open, I hear coyotes howl. Do they greet the autumn or mourn the end of summer?
The air is different. Some mornings, I’m blinded by the slanting sun. The sweat-soaked grit on my legs is no longer nurturing loam. I now sport detritus. The cycle of seed to sprout, sprout to fulgent growth, bows proudly at the curtain call.
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posted by Jonas | 8/22/2011 10:05:00 PM
8 Comments:
"Dust I was...Dust I shall become."
Reminds me of the beautiful Beth Nielson Chapman song, Sand and Water:
All alone I didn't like the feeling
All alone I sat and cried
All alone I had to find some meaning
In the center of the pain I felt inside
All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water, and a million years gone by
I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
All alone I heal this heart of sorrow
All alone I raise this child
Flesh and bone, he's just
Bursting towards tomorrow
And his laughter fills my world and wears your smile
I will see you in the light of a thousand suns
I will hear you in the sound of the waves
I will know you when I come, as we all will come
Through the doors beyond the grave
All alone I came into this world
All alone I will someday die
Solid stone is just sand and water, baby
Sand and water and a million years gone by
"flugent growth" -- gotta remember that. A very fine description of the cusp of summer/autumn. Few people seem to be out and noticing.
Both. I both mourn the end of summer and greet the autumn.
I relish the cooler nights, although our days are still hot and sunny, but do not want the autumn to creep in any sooner than absolutely necessary, for on its heels will be the bitter bite of severe frigidity. Prairie winters are lengthy, dark and nastily cold. That I do not wish for. I spend time outside each day letting the sweat cleanse my soul, and evenings either on the balcony or by a fire. I'd love for this weather to last and last.
I've heard people question what prose poetry is. They would need only come here, and read this.
This is true poetry, Jonas. It is a beautiful, and beautifully melancholy, expression on the waning. The waning of summer, the waning of youth, the waning of life.
I bought a bike. Did I tell you? I sling my messenger bag across my back, wear my camera like a breast. I pedal through the vineyards and watch as the leaves grow pregnant with grapes. Watch them give birth. Soon I shall watch them molt and think they are dead, but they are not. I think of you. I hear you words. These will resonate along with your keen awareness.
Yes, well said. Funny how the sun is speeding towards the horizon and setting further and further to the south. How did this happen so fast? The coyotes are mourning the end of summer. Winter is hard on everything. I enjoy your observations.
Our mornings have a slight chill, but we're still in the 90's in the afternoons. I'm not ready for cooler weather.
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