by: Stanley Kunitz
An agitation of the air,
A perturbation of the light
Admonished me the unloved year
Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones,
Amazed, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was over.
Already the iron door of the north
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows.
___________________________
Yes, it feels like the end of summer this morning. The high temperature of the day is only going to be 61 degrees. I'm going to cut my grass one more time this afternoon. Unless we get a spell of 80- and 90-degree days with a lot of rain, this will probably be the last mow of the summer season for me. (Thank God!)
I used to be a winter person. Then I switched to autumn for several years. Now, I am totally a summer person. I love the heat and light and length of the days. Love being able to go for a 45-minute walk at 10 o'clock at night and return with light still in the sky.
I guess what I'm saying is that I accept that the leaves are changing colors and there will be frost on the morning windows soon. I don't have to like it.
Saint Marty wants a vacation to Hawaii. For the next nine months.
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