In This Solemn Season
September is here; the year leans into fall.
Soon the leaves will turn and glow,
Their last radiance a brilliant call
‘Ere they recycle into earth where new sprouts grow.
And so it is with life’s cycling sun:
The seasons one after another come and go,
And we beneath expanse of sky ‘till our time—done—
Wait for our call to leave this vale below.
May we like fall leaves with serene beauty
Hold fast to what our time can gladly share:
Our portions of both rest and God-filled duty
Come at last victorious to leave this world of care.
Hold no regrets, for life has been ablaze with beauty
Yielding more than I deserved of live and duty.
-Ethelene Dyer Jones 09.02.2016
Tipper
Guess I’m like the katydids – at least a day late.
Here in Texas they seem to be singing a somewhat different and rather subdued song – just been an unusual summer all the way around.
b. Ruth,
I’ve been hearing katydids and katydidn’ts in the evenings for a good while, and just stepped out to see if they were tuned up – they were. The number does seem to have dropped off, though. I didn’t make a note of it, but am fairly sure I was hearing them no later than mid-July.
Maybe someone else was paying better attention and can say.
I do know that I’ve heard them when out camping until well into the fall – mid-to-late October. But I don’t have a clue about their wintering habits.
Beautiful!!!
I have been so looking forward to Fall, when everything starts unwinding into a slow peaceful rest.
God bless.
RB
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Beautiful! Thank you for sharing!
Pam
scrap-n-sewgranny.blogspot.com
Thank you, Tipper, for posting my sonnet, “In this Solemn Season.” And thank all of you for reading and those of you who commented so thoughtfully and creatively. Don Casada, your pennings are superlative. Thank you all. And now, may we all enjoy the beauty and the deep thoughts of this “Solemn Season,” so remarkably beautiful in the mountains.
Tipper,
Ethelene sure has a way with words of feelings. I’ve said it before, but I would like to have sat in her classroom. I had an English Teacher in High School, Renee’ Justice, that made an impression on my life. She lived at Robbinsville somewhere, I never knew where she came from, but she taught the Cultures of life better’n anyone without looking down on folks…Ken
Tipper & Ethelene: THANKS FOR THE BEAUTIFUL REMINDED THAT I WAS BORN IN THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MONTH OF THE YEAR!
We had our MULL FAMILY REUNION this past weekend. Next year we PLAN to have our reunion on my birthday 09-09-17. Much devotion! Eva Nell Mull Wike
OK…I would like to ask and maybe lighten this up a bit with an observance and question!
Where are the Katy-dids or even a Katy-didn’t? I know I wasn’t out much in the nighttime heat in late July and August but when I was I do not remember hearing a single solitary katydid. By this time we are seeing the large green critters on the screen door and on the shrubs…
I mean really and I’m serious…are we not going to have a frost until December or ever? I start counting the weeks til frost by the sound of the katydid!
Sorry for this interruption, I mean it is Fall almost, and the poem and Don’s and others comments got me pondering this troublesome situation on my hill! I wonder if other readers have heard very many katydids and when did they start calling in their neck of the woods?
Thanks Tipper,
Beautiful, descriptive words………thank you!
Lovely photo! Exquisite sonnet! And Don Casada’s poetic comment! What a beautiful beginning to my September morning.
Lovely thoughts and words, as usual, from Miz Ethelene.
The rate at which the decline in daylight hours occurs is at its maximum right now. In mid-July, we were losing about 1 minute of daylight each day. Now we’re more than double that. The changing of seasons is palpable to every sense – sight, smell, sound, feel, and taste.
September is the season of lobelias – the spectacularly crimson-red cardinal flower and its blue-hued cousins, great and spiked lobelia, all raising their heads in pride, and thriving along seeps, springs and streams.
It’s a Chambers Creek pumpkin, no longer hidden under the protective leaf cover of July and August, now taking on its golden suntan, and resting from that torrid pace of growth from marble-sized to the diameter of a half century old poplar in less than two months.
It’s a time when the jar fly, having emerged in glory goes silent, but crickets compensate in the wee hours of the morning.
September is a month to contemplate – to look both backward and forward; to remember the labors and joys of younger days and summer, and anticipate more difficult, yet wondrous, days to come.
I know a lot of good poetry has been written that does not rhyme, and that’s OK. But to me personally, it is even more special when the convention of rhyme is skillfully applied to the poetry. Good job, Ethelene!
Fall is like spring…a big tease. Cool mornings and hot afternoons. A promise that fades. Like a friendly glance that isn’t repeated. I guess anticipation is good for us and prolongs the enjoyment. I am ready for the real thing.
Tipper,
Thank you for sharing Ethelene’s beautiful poem, so fitting the season.
I can’t believe that it is already the 14th of September, how fast time passes as one counts past the sevens in their birthdays….
To quote a line from one of my favorite poems “Autumn Song” by John B Tabb…
“My life is but a leaf upon the tree”—-
I do wish the passing time would slow just a bit…HA
Thanks Tipper,
and Ethelene
Thanks Tipper,
Beautiful, thank you for sharing this.
Beautiful poem, thank you Ethelene! This time of year always tends to make me think. It’s bring the ending of the active time of year and makes me think of assessing my progress through whatever this season has brought. There has been joy, pain, hard work, progress and new insights. I think it’s been a good season.
Great poem. I read it twice, and it said so much about life and seasons. It certainly reminds me of the blessing of living in four season’s country. This may be explained poorly, but there is just something about great poetry that takes everyday life and magically touches our inner spirit. This poem did just that! Thank you so much Ethelene Dyer Jones.