Some Good News in an Otherwise Funky Time

First off, check out this photo – I call it “The Essence of Indian Summer” – Morning Glories backed by a glowing Maple.  What could better sum up this time of year?  Well … maybe baseball fever?

Here’s to Roy Halladay and the Phillies, as they start off their playoff run in fine fashion with a history-making turn by the Doctor!

I was bummed to see the Rays and the Twins lose, but if their fortunes must be sacrificed for the Phillies, so be it.  Onward, Phillies – it’s Roy Oswalt on Friday!  Can Roy top Roy and H2O continue their winning ways? We’ll see …. the pressure’s on, Little Roy!

While that’s some great baseball news, it’s an otherwise generally funky time for yours truly. I’m not sure why, but I do know that I need to introspect a bit and see what’s up.

Maybe it’s the wear and tear of work.  Listening to people whose lives are hard and who are unhappy with their lot can be draining … most especially when they are, for whatever reason, also rejecting of any/all possible solutions.  A wearing grind that I sometimes need to just step away from and take a deep breath!

And maybe it’s the time of year. The day’s shortening and the night’s lengthening is a transition that always entails some adjusting, and seems to lend itself to going inward.

When I welcome that change, it can be an exciting and fruitful time. But when I fight it, well, things get a little bit … uh … funky!

So here’s to inward explorations and to getting myself back on track. Life’s saver is too precious and too fleeting to let its moments be sullied by the funks!

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1 Response to Some Good News in an Otherwise Funky Time

  1. Alice says:

    Here’s a poem to go with the beautiful glowing maple. I wish I had an answer to funks–they do seem to bear down this time of year don’t they. I’m never sure whether to embrace them or curse them; mostly, in my case, it doesn’t seem to matter–they pretty much call the shots anyway.

    Here’s to Fall and “the changing light… falling on us”:

    Fall
    by Edward Hirsch

    Fall, falling, fallen. That’s the way the season
    Changes its tense in the long-haired maples
    That dot the road; the veiny hand-shaped leaves
    Redden on their branches (in a fiery competition
    With the final remaining cardinals) and then
    Begin to sidle and float through the air, at last
    Settling into colorful layers carpeting the ground.
    At twilight the light, too, is layered in the trees
    In a season of odd, dusky congruences—a scarlet tanager
    And the odor of burning leaves, a golden retriever
    Loping down the center of a wide street and the sun
    Setting behind smoke-filled trees in the distance,
    A gap opening up in the treetops and a bruised cloud
    Blamelessly filling the space with purples. Everything
    Changes and moves in the split second between summer’s
    Sprawling past and winter’s hard revision, one moment
    Pulling out of the station according to schedule,
    Another moment arriving on the next platform. It
    Happens almost like clockwork: the leaves drift away
    From their branches and gather slowly at our feet,
    Sliding over our ankles, and the season begins moving
    Around us even as its colorful weather moves us,
    Even as it pulls us into its dusty, twilit pockets.
    And every year there is a brief, startling moment
    When we pause in the middle of a long walk home and
    Suddenly feel something invisible and weightless
    Touching our shoulders, sweeping down from the air:
    It is the autumn wind pressing against our bodies;
    It is the changing light of fall falling on us.

    Like

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