Outside

The woods of the park I walked through recently had a chalky gray sky behind them, and a brown earth scattered beneath. But within those woods were fields of color: reds and golds and oranges and browns.

The air is crisp and cold and I don’t get the feeling that things are dying. Rather, things are changing.

Hopkins has a poem on autumn that I have to look at again. The time of the poem is indeterminate: it looks like the child is watching fall turn into winter, and the implied spring that the earth will have but she will not could be the burden the child feels.

The child may mourn, but this time is going well for me. I only wish I had been more thoughtful recently, but that will happen. If those trees can be beautiful in fading away, I certainly can do more while being alive.

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2 Comments

  1. I really do think that you do enough. Besides, the leaves of the trees are just passing along – there is no intent in what they do, while you have intent in all that you do. Don’t get discouraged, I know that is a bit strong, because you find yourself distracted or less than thoughtful. In time you will have the spring without ever having suffered fall and winter.

  2. Thanks for checking out my blog! You shouldn’t beat up on yourself and your blog – you’ve got some great stuff here! And it’s always nice to here from a fellow grad student :)

    Cheers, Bryn

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