Song for Autumn

Song for Autumn 

by Mary Oliver

In the deep fall

    don't you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch

    the earth instead of the

nothingness of air and the endless

    freshets of wind? And don't you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

    warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep

    inside their bodies? And don't you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

    the everlasting being crowned with the first

tuffets of snow? The pond

    vanishes, and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

    its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its

bellows. And at evening especially,

    the piled firewood shifts a little,

longing to be on its way.

Tonight I'm going to see the wonderfully talented Mary Oliver read poetry selections from her large body of work at the Wells Fargo Center in Santa Rosa.  I'm really looking forward to it.  I've been absorbing her books of poetry over the last three years and find them so comforting to read and re-read, especially before the household wakes up.  She always seems to find the perfect words to honor the natural world, the changing of seasons, loss and the excesses of modern life.  Should be a beautiful and inspiring evening.