Autumn Zen

It’s a Zen sort of morning; crisp and cool outside, warm and comforting inside. I have a cup of tea, the dogs are dozing after a brisk morning walk, and the house is quiet. Perfection. 

I have been working on several writing projects, one of which is a memoir of sorts. Although it is really just a listing of as many moments as I can recall from my life. The writing is much more poetic in tone than prose, more snapshots of my life than full stories, and as is true of probably all reminiscence, it is dotted with uncertainty. Hence my working title, What I Remember, or Partial Truths and Partial Lies: A Memoir.

Because this project looms in the back of my mind most of the time, this morning’s dog walk and cool autumn air took me down yet another of those proverbial dusty, dirt roads of my past, and ignited my creativity. 

I miss living in the country, where the world is often loud with silence in the spring and summer. A country morning in the fall, overhung by fog lifting from a small lake, however, sings out softness and silence, and it is this that I miss the most.

Here’s a bit of a poem stemming from my morning bout of creativeness. It recalls pieces of my past and it celebrates the long overdue, at least in my opinion, coming of fall.

Early Fall in the Country

Morning light shadows its way past tree limb and branch,

the sound of our footsteps is stifled

as the misty grey breath of another dewy day awakens,

A gaggle of geese, stragglers on their way to warmer climes,

worry their way across our path

seeking safety in the tawny tinged lake water,

Our old dogs, usually bound by arthritis and age,

bounce and tumble through a fall-rainbow of leaves,

emboldened by the toothsome bite of an autumn wind,

Sweet smoke drifts from the chimney, promising

respite from the nippy air, our children,

pink-cheeked and innocent, gambol ahead of us,

your ungloved hand rests warmly in mine.
                                                                  Jeanice Eagan Davis © 2012