October

O hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild, Should waste them all. The crows above the forest call; Tomorrow they may form and go. O hushed October morning mild, Begin the hours of this day slow. Make the day seem to us less brief. Hearts not averse to being beguiled, Beguile us in the way you know. Release one leaf at break of day; At noon release another leaf; One from our trees, one far away. Retard the sun with gentle mist; Enchant the land with amethyst. Slow, slow! For the grapes’ sake, if they were all, Whose leaves already are burnt with frost, Whose clustered fruit must else be lost— For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

“October” by Robert Frost

“October” by Eric Whitacre, performed by Rutgers Wind Ensemble

Photo Credit: FreeImages.com/John Frenzel

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This is a companion discussion topic for the original entry at http://spectrummagazine.org/node/7121
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Heartbreakingly beautiful!

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Thank you for this wonderful spot of beauty on this October Sabbath day!

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Robert Frost is about my favorite poet. He writes in a more straightforward way than many poets. And since I deal better with concrete, rather than abstract concepts, I can usually understand what he’s saying. Two of my favorites are “The Road Not Taken,” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

Spending much of his life in New England, he knew about fall colors and how quickly the leaves can vanish in October. You folks in the south may not fully appreciate his insights on this. I grew up in California, and never saw real fall colors until I migrated east. Leaves turned brown and fell, and there are many trees there [such as Live Oaks, and Bay Trees (Calif. Laurel)] which never lose all of their leaves at once.

I’ve been keeping tabs on the weather in Calgary, and it seems as if it’s been warmer than usual for this late in the season–except for that one snowfall. It was 22° yesterday there. Pretty balmy for October, when the normal high and low should be around 13° and 0°. It’s much farther north than I am, and we couldn’t even hit 10° yesterday. Our normal for right now is around 16°.

Here I am giving a weather report. And in the Yukon . . . . Oh boy. :slight_smile:

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i’ve been in downtown los angeles this week…earlier today it was 96F without a cloud in the sky…i’m in a corner suite, high up in my hotel…the mountains here are beautiful, and who doesn’t like palm trees and flowering trees…yellow, white, red, blue, purple, orange, pink - it’s all here…

but i have to say, i love the heat…6 wks ago i was in blistering fort lauderdale - can’t get enough sun… :yum:

but i know fall and winter are waiting in unpredictable calgary…we’ve already had one snowfall…there is beauty and meaning in the changing seasons…everything can be beautiful if you look at it in the right way…

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Jeremy, I’m intrigued by your life story. You write beautifully, and your violin playing must be also beautiful. Google has lots of your life available, which is an inspiration to this elderly Adventist widow.

See you later, in heaven.

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Spring is my favorite season - full of anticipation and new life. But I have a special fondness for the melancholy of fall days, too. Here in western Washington, as I drive through the natural wooded areas, I see mostly the many muted shades of fading greens and golds. They are beautiful in a different way compared to the bright, gaudy display of the eastern trees. The gray skies and showers now and then tell truly of the season of death to come. This is a poem I wrote to describe my feelings about Fall:

Love’s Whisper

Why do I like a mournful day
when gray clouds press near the earth,
hiding the distant blue-sky splendor?

Why do I take a somber pleasure
in seeing the bright flame of the maples
softly muted and blurred by the mist?

Why does the forlorn cry of the crows
or the gentle murmur of rain down the spout
draw from me an answering response?

Do I remember an ancient sorrow,
a pain grown familiar through the centuries -
the loss of Eden’s pure joys?

Do I wrap tightly about my heart
the haunting beauty, dimmed but not quenched,
that whispers of a Creator’s undying love?

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