Where Two Meet Sun, 6th October, 2013
As I feel the sharp coolness of autumn finally arriving in St. Louis last night and this morning, I feel like summer may at last be saying good-bye and letting go of my hand. The crisp and colorful days of autumn have now taken my other hand, and I am turning to greet it. It is where life meets death and we stand, torn between the two.
I have always loved best those things in the natural world and in our lives that represent the edge where two things meet. I've read that the richest, most diverse ecosystems are in these places where two types of environments overlap—forest meeting savanna, mountains meeting the ocean, salt water meeting fresh water. Perhaps this is why I've always loved the agricultural landscape. Orchards, wheat fields and grazing pastures are all places where the work of human hands meets divine creation, thus producing the richest abundance.
So, too, it is true for matters of the strictly human variety. The richest cultural, culinary and spiritual experiences come from that cocktail of creativity that arises when traditions overlap, cross-pollinate and create new life.
So here, now, at the meeting of the seasons, I'm thinking of my gardenia on the patio. The waxy, tropical shrub loves the warm and humid summer but, like Florida-bound snowbirds, can't tolerate the cold. The Bangladeshi man who sold it to me said not to leave it outside when it's below 50 degrees.
So as we contemplate the coming of frost, and enjoy this beautiful time that is part summer and part autumn, I leave two gifts for you. One is the small slideshow of images I captured last fall to get you in the mood for the full-throated opulence of the season to come. I hope you can find some quiet moments to enjoy the real thing when it comes again this year.
The second gift is this reflection by Robert T. Weston, who rejoices in the paradox of autumn, this happy and sad time where edges meet.
Harbingers of Frost
Autumn, we know,
Is life en route to death.
The asters are but harbingers of frost.
The trees, flaunting their colors at the sky,
In other times will follow where the leaves have fallen,
And so shall we.
Yet other lives will come.
So may we know, accept, embrace,
The mystery of life we hold a while.
Nor mourn that it outgrows each separate self, but still rejoice that we may have our day.
Lift high our colors to the sky!
And give, in our time, fresh glory to the earth.
—Robert T. Weston
As I feel the sharp coolness of autumn finally arriving in St. Louis last night and this morning, I feel like summer may at last be saying good-bye and letting go of my hand. The crisp and colorful days of autumn have now taken my other hand, and I am turning to greet it. It is where life meets death and we stand, torn between the two.
I have always loved best those things in the natural world and in our lives that represent the edge where two things meet. I've read that the richest, most diverse ecosystems are in these places where two types of environments overlap—forest meeting savanna, mountains meeting the ocean, salt water meeting fresh water. Perhaps this is why I've always loved the agricultural landscape. Orchards, wheat fields and grazing pastures are all places where the work of human hands meets divine creation, thus producing the richest abundance.
So, too, it is true for matters of the strictly human variety. The richest cultural, culinary and spiritual experiences come from that cocktail of creativity that arises when traditions overlap, cross-pollinate and create new life.
So here, now, at the meeting of the seasons, I'm thinking of my gardenia on the patio. The waxy, tropical shrub loves the warm and humid summer but, like Florida-bound snowbirds, can't tolerate the cold. The Bangladeshi man who sold it to me said not to leave it outside when it's below 50 degrees.
So as we contemplate the coming of frost, and enjoy this beautiful time that is part summer and part autumn, I leave two gifts for you. One is the small slideshow of images I captured last fall to get you in the mood for the full-throated opulence of the season to come. I hope you can find some quiet moments to enjoy the real thing when it comes again this year.
The second gift is this reflection by Robert T. Weston, who rejoices in the paradox of autumn, this happy and sad time where edges meet.
Harbingers of Frost
Autumn, we know,
Is life en route to death.
The asters are but harbingers of frost.
The trees, flaunting their colors at the sky,
In other times will follow where the leaves have fallen,
And so shall we.
Yet other lives will come.
So may we know, accept, embrace,
The mystery of life we hold a while.
Nor mourn that it outgrows each separate self, but still rejoice that we may have our day.
Lift high our colors to the sky!
And give, in our time, fresh glory to the earth.
—Robert T. Weston
