Sunday Poetry: The Nothingness of Air
Welcome to Sunday Poetry. If this is your first visit you can read about the purpose and inspiration of my Sunday blogs here.
Today’s poem, Song for Autumn by Mary Oliver seems perfect for mid-October, when the anticipation of winter is always with us, even on days when summer seems to be asserting itself, although briefly.
The leaves in our neighborhood are beginning to turn. I describe them in detail to my husband, who is color blind, and he tells me what he sees and doesn’t. It’s a different view of the same thing, much like the way each of us looks at national events as another presidential election rounds the corner.
I am ambivalent about autumn, having grown up in Florida, then lived many years in colder climes when autumn made me fear what was to come.
What does autumn mean to you? If you’ve celebrated a marriage or birth or lost a loved one this season, perhaps it brings back that memory. Perhaps you look forward to quieter months when leaving home isn’t worth the trouble and a warm fire beckons you to stay? Does your firewood shift a little, longing to be on its way? Do you?
Remember there are no quizzes here, no right ways to read or contemplate the poem we share. Just come along for the “read,” and enjoy the experience. What line, word or thought will you carry along with you this week? And if you’d like to tell us where the poem took you? We’ll listen.
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