If you're like me, cleaning out your purse can be an event that yields surprises. Although Christmas is upon us, my recent purse-cleaning produced a poem scrawled on the back of a "Conferencias de Padres/Maestros" reminder. It's undated, but was clearly inspired by the brilliant autumn colors that graced Chico a couple of months ago.
I SAY I LIKE AUTUMN
Spring, for many, is a hopeful time.
And why shouldn't it be?
For trees there is regeneration,
For animals, reproduction,
For Christians, resurrection.
Celebrate?
Of course.
But for me, valley dweller,
Loather of perspiration,
Lover of coziness,
There is a moment late in August,
Blooming to a full evening in September,
That offers promise more refreshing than
Any spring blossom or breeze.
It is the promise of cardigans,
cocoa and cuddling.
Even more, it is the promise of crispness.
Crispness of air, of color, of leaves underfoot...
Crispness of Spirit.
Celebrate?
HALLELUJAH!
BY LADAWN HALL
FALL 2010
On the other side of the notice, at odds with the Spanish parent conference reminder, I noted:
Spring looks back:
'I used to be dead and now I live.'
Fall, by contrast, just says, "LOOK AT ME!"
And everyone obeys.
