Introduction

Some perceive autumn merely as a transitional period between two quite opposite seasons. In reality, nothing could be further from the truth and, in fact, the philosopher Albert Camus said it best, stating, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” Whether he meant this literally or not, my feelings toward autumn changed after reading his quotation. Indeed, I have come to realize that it is more than a transition, or an opposite of spring, but a time that gives so much for life.

Perceiving Difference in the Nascency of a Year is a collection of my attempts to justify, from beginning to end, the complexity and contradiction that has become autumn. What is more of a contradiction than recognizing the “giver of life” as Death himself? The continuation of our own cycle depends greatly on what we view as an intermediary, when in reality it is a vital stage of and, arguably, the true beginning to what we find most dear: life.


Perceiving Difference in the Nascency of a Year


I. Ulterior

Standing defiance—
the last leaf unwavering
clinging to its past.


II. Autumnal Suggestion

Summer is blurring to Autumn, that
period where I listen to those far off,
thoughts lost, welcome sounds
the dying leaves
the pulsing wind cracking window panes
with the last
dry dust
and rocks from a Summer
where yard working was a fad
But now the "in" is to simply be
fall like the leaves
Grow, think the autumnal way,
laugh while the trees gasp for water
and imagine their satisfaction
with that rain that you loath
I feel it:
Every breeze
Every shift
Every trying to be, Every forget-me-not wilting,
Do you feel it too?
maybe it isn't about you.
or me
or any seasonal change or shift in stature
that brings the climate to its knees.

It is what Autumn always brings,
what Spring cannot perceive:

The subtlety of its sophistication,
that grace that comes without trying.


III. A Wren (I)

A song forming an exemplar picture,
floats the morning air
carrying the misunderstood words of a yet-to-be.
the Wren feels cold
But cannot tell from which direction—came a mouthful of air
The Sun blinds even the most experienced of onlookers.


IV. Fleeting

It is what autumn always brings,
what spring cannot perceive
The actuality of finality,
And to be the true god of all life.

Autumn is a second Spring
Or maybe the first—

Life giving begins with the first snowfall
The everlasting crying of a protector
tasked with deciduously choosing amongst her young…

That is the never-ending cycle,
an incongruity of itself where every leaf becomes a flower,
each calling to the winds to bring frigid air.
                    All of this
To kill away the thoughts of a passing year and
make way for the new
ephemeral hopes, dreams, and Forget-Me-Not lovers.


V. Tellus

Unrelenting now—
Snow covers the naked limbs,
nurturing children.


VI. A Wren (II)

Modestly virginal
the Wren keeps Chaste in hiding
or just unrevealed—
To the naked eye that is
unworthy of pleasure.

A song
forming an exemplar picture,
shudders slowly from the freeze
caught between words

Lithe,
Supple, uneasy

She crawls on her knees, weary to stand,
Unable to accept the timeless shift surrounding.

Dauntlessly unjaded,
the Wren clasps her wings
for she does not understand
Comprehend,
the windless night.

It seems,
Sleeping in quilts of straw
and leaves lying down
with a single petticoat,
she never takes flight with
wings—
those frail, ivory wings.

A modern Guinevere—
Floating the crest
of a zephyr rising
Setting
settling to the East
with frail,
ivory wings to her sides.

Grounded she stares
into blue eyes.

She feels warmth
crying in agony for solace,
that finds its place aloft an evergreen
that keeps the Wren whole.


VII. Awareness

Solitary mind—
The water now speaks softly,
Babbling downstream.

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