The Urgency of Sunlight

Sept 6 2011

The firewood is in.

Soon, leaves will need raking,

the flimsy stuff of summer

stowing away.

Hunkered down

for snow.

The serene melancholy

of fall

is all the sweeter

in these quickly diminishing days;

the urgency of sunlight

the snap of frost at night.

I watch

the height of the sun as it drops

day-by-day,

its path

drift rapidly south.

The house falls into shadow

grass barely grows.

I feel the urge to pause

take time out.

But the shortening of day

is a cautionary tale  —

be prudent, prepare.

So I will not be seduced

by Indian summer,

the deceptive warmth

of clear September skies.

Rabbits turn white

geese flock south.

Black bears fatten

on sour apples

that fall, and we let lie.

While I crave sweets and starch,

the heavy food of winter

that’s been of little interest

the last few months.

There is a quality to the light

I find hard to describe.

A clarity, an age, a distance,

its spectrum slightly shifted

to the warmer tones.

Like scattered leaves

the setting sun

the fading lawn.

The shifting pattern, of back-lit shadows

that play out

at dusk, and dawn.

But words are inadequate

and time will soon be gone.

There are leaves that need gathering

seasoned birch to split.

So I exchange my pen

for a sturdy rake

a heavy wedge-shaped maul.

Its smooth dark handle

used long, and well.

I resist these descriptive, seasonal, nature-inspired lyric poems. But every once in awhile, my will-power wanes. This poem began with my observations of how dramatically the days are shortening. Day length graphs as a sine wave, and it's clear we're on the steep downward limb. The title is one of the lines I like best, and quite suitably re-states this beginning.

Otherwise, the poem is kind of a grasshopper and ant parable; a cautionary tale.