October 2020

Usually I make my way to this thoughtful spot in the afternoon.  Late in the day, when the sun is high and warm, it's pleasant to break from the happenings of the day and sit here in the woods for a while.  But today it's morning, late morning, it's true, but still well before noon and quite marvelously different from my usual afternoon writing hour.  The pasture above me is bright and sunny, but here at my thoughtful spot there is a peaceful sense of morning quietude.

O hushed October morning mild,/Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,/Should waste them all.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                  - Robert Frost, October

The dew hasn't quite dried in this little valley, it rests still on the rocks in the creek bank, on the drooping ferns that were hardy enough to weather last night's frost, on a few spider's webs that drape between branches, and on the deep, crackling carpet of brown leaves.  The sunlight reaches this spot later in the morning than it did earlier in the year, yet with greater ease now that many of the trees are leafless, so at the moment every lingering dew drop, and the splashes from the waterfall, and the ripples in the creek sparkle in the late morning light.  Across the creek from me a steady chain of diamonds is dripping from a rock ledge. My thoughtful spot is all a-twinkle, as though it has been dusted in glitter and gemstones and tiny stars.

Dew Drops photographed by W. A. Bentley

The wind was still and the stars were bright,
And the fairies danced all the night,
Then scattered in glee from their infinite store
The sparkling jewels and gems they wore  -
Sapphires and rubies that gleam in the sun,
Opals and pearls where their dancing was done

                                                   - W. J. Humphreys, Dew

From where I'm sitting I can see a bramble bush covered in tiny red rose hips (Rosa canina).  These bright little herbs are one of the highest plant sources of vitamin C, and they are ready to be harvested on these cold October days and dried for use in teas and syrups throughout the winter. The wild persimmons (Diospyros virginiana) too, are ripe, and even sweeter now after a frost.  While walking this morning I came across a bewildered bunch of blooming violets (Viola papilionacea), who must have mistaken these chilly, sunny days for the beginning of spring.  A few of their little purple blossoms are pressing in my dictionary at the moment, waiting to be sent off in letters in the middle of winter as a cheery promise of warmer days.

---

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
                                                                                                                                                                                                                  - John Keats, To Autumn

On the edge of a field this morning I saw a lingering tassel of goldenrod (Solidago gigantea) that survived the frost.  It stood out in beautifully bright yellow against the browns of the bare trees around it.  Goldenrod is often accused of causing seasonal allergies, but it is actually ragweed, an unassuming little wildflower that blooms around the same time and in similar areas as goldenrod, that is the true culprit.  In fact, goldenrod has been traditionally used to help reduce the symptoms of seasonal ragweed allergies.  It's golden flowers can be dried and steeped as an herbal infusion, or its sweet, herbaceous, and slightly bitter flowers can infused in honey.  This one last bloom however, will not be dried and turned into an herbal remedy.  It is now sitting on my desk in a bright blue vase of crackled glass that sparkles when the sun hits it, a reminder of a beautiful summer. 

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... / Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst. / Slow! Slow!
                                                                                                                                                                                                                  - Robert Frost, October