The change of season
Tap-dance rain drowns a dream I came close to remembering. Instead it drifts into the rhythm of
water on a skylight and all is lost, for now. The hazel tree is losing its zest too and will soon shed
the grace this garden has been gifted with until time passes and comes again for it to shine. Sleep
is dominant in this house for those etched into their cocoons like driftwood stuck on a silken sand
as I watch the wane of Summer from the safety of the back porch in bare feet, a tightly bound
dressing gown about my form. There is sky. Always guaranteed sky. Today it is blotched with
uneven putty, badly spread, finger prints scald the clouds. Cause a dissonance. A red
tractor burps and trundles on the crooked road and pulls a trailer stacked with black turf, from
the bog beyond, on the hill before the sea. I envy the recipient of this bounty.
The assurance it brings. The promise of long nights stretched before a blaze of light, a
something to anticipate like tea and toast while clad in woollen socks, tossed pages on the
coffee table, a blasé of acceptance for the days to come. A waiting for the embers to turn shock
white and then a brief chance to rekindle them only with a soft blow of air, a stoke, an effort to
defy the inevitable chill I cannot avoid.
copyright; mary p wilkinson 2012
there isn't enough of anything as long as we live. But at intervals a sweetness appears and, given a chance prevails.
”
—Raymond Carver
About Mary
I live in the west of Ireland. I enjoy writing in many forms, prose, drama, poetry and short pieces for radio. I am also a fanatical baker.
Connections
Mary’s Favorite Books
Stag's Leap - Sharon Olds, The Picture of Dorian Grey - Oscar Wilde, The Bell Jar - Slyvia Plath, Unless - Carol Shields, A Moveable Feast - Hemingway, The Sea...
Mary is a fan of
..."a blasé of acceptance for
..."a blasé of acceptance for the days to come."
August is always a rough month for me, the change of seasons I least welcome, although I love the autumn. It just is. Your words help.
It is the sense of something
It is the sense of something ending, Jodi. It is a nostalgic time for me too. m
autumn
I'm not certain that it's something ending that makes autumn so rough. I don't know what it is. Perhaps it is something ending -- long days. I love that the days are long in summer. It gives me so much more freedom to be outside after being stuck in the office all day. It makes me so sad on those winter days when I go to work in the dark and come home in the dark.
I hear you Jodi. But we have
I hear you Jodi. But we have to go on. I was thinking about this today in the supermarket of all places. I was looking at the people shopping and they looked cold and dark and I thought what choice do I have. I can either make the best of the dark and dreary or I can go home, close the blinds and shut my eyes. Instead, I forced myself to open up, spread myself, embrace the rain like it was something special even though I felt close to screaming. Hope this makes sense otherwise I might sound totally insane. Well if I do maybe I am. m
Purr... Purr... Purr... :–)
Purr... Purr... Purr... :–)
Perfect K! Thanks. m
Perfect K! Thanks. m
Mary, I am always so aware of
Mary,
I am always so aware of the changes to the seasons. That first hint of what is to come. The way the shadows shift subtlely, and the way the air smells.
Lovely post.
Annette
Yes. Shifting shadows and new
Yes. Shifting shadows and new air. Great for inspiring the creativity within. m
Amongst your many blogs that
Amongst your many blogs that I enjoy, Mary, your season blogs are special to me because they mark changes and feeling, and though your seasons are different than those here in California, you remind of the changes here and all around. I don't know what August, approaching September makes me feel, so your blog has asked me to stop and think about it. I don't feel or see the changes yet, but I know it will be noticeable before I know it.
How special Rebb. Our seasons
How special Rebb. Our seasons are dear to me here especially after living in the desert southwest. There I pined for change and it never came. Maybe that is why I came back here. Autumn and Winter is a good time to write in Ireland. Something about the bleak, sombre light and early close of day that is especially helpful to those of us who ponder life and desire to express it in writing. Hope your class is going well for you. Don't ever doubt what you do and only write for yourself first and foremost. mx
Mary, this is sheer delight...
The imagery dances along. Whilst there is a yielding to the inevitable, there is also reaffirmed purpose which is, perhaps, the secret of existence. To take what's offered and create something special out of it, that is the essence of living.
I know things are tough in Ireland at present, but to be able to live so intimately within the cycle of the seasons, with all entrepreneurial complications which beset our life in the West forgotten, is surely priceless.
You were ever a lady to count her blessings!
Rosy, I treasure your words.
Rosy, I treasure your words. Thank you. I hope all is well with you and family. mx
Mary. Why do I not come round
Mary. Why do I not come round here more often? YOU are absolutely getting so good with every piece you post. I could feel the change around you. Like you said, writing season is coming. Perhaps I should come there. You make it live.
Well, I am here in the southwest part of the US, but even here, something about the light has changed; it is flatter, matter, not so glaring. My throat clenches at the thought of what autumn will bring, since I don't know what autumn here is like. I wonder if it will be a writing season.
I wonder how I can be alerted when you have posted your gems. Keep them coming.
Warm regards,
Emily
I love how you describe the
I love how you describe the light, Emily.....'flatter, matter, not so glaring'. When the glare recedes one can see more clearly! Happy writing season. m