Amy in the Garden

It is my day off. My one-per-seven, and I began it with Robert Frost’s poem, “October.”

Every line of the poem applies to me today. I am watching the sun rise over the reservoir at the foot of the hill. The “decorative” grasses (as opposed to the merely utilitarian grasses) in our garden are hued with amethyst. They carry the promise of deep sleep in their deepening color, and I brush them with my fingertips every morning as I pass, to acknowledge and accept.

I harvested my tomatoes in advance of this week’s wild wind, and the leaves on the trees are indeed releasing as described. Not enough to rake, not enough to collect for compost. Just enough to signal an approach.

The leafy vines in my garden displayed on the trellises are indeed looking burned, despite the late arrival of our first frost (no pun). The yellowing tells me to harvest and appreciate. I am not objecting to these instructions, being a “not averse” kind of person. I’m happy to do as I am told, when it is Nature doing the telling.

I will be so busy today, and yet I will remember “Slow, slow!”

WORDS FROM OTHERS

October

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

— Robert Frost