September Interplay

Published on by geriatric pilgrim

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Through my window, a September slant of sunlight

softened by shadows cast by hemlocks in the hollow

seems a plush carpet inviting me to take off my shoes

and walk barefoot into a golden world.

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Summer sun glares, remorselessly highlighting

weeds I failed to pull, dents I’ve put in the car, windows that need washing.

Winter light is weak and pale, helpless against the darkness

always hovering on the horizon, a constant reminder of mortality.

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To someone who’s spent his life caroming 

from one extreme to another, a ping-pong ball

sent back and forth by whoever I’m trying to please today,

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September says, “Live in the interplay

of light and shadow, 

of cool mornings and warm afternoons, 

of tart cider and sweet corn,

of raucous crows and cooing doves,

of grief and grace.”

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