Finally the ginkgoes

I wait for this every year. In college we had a ginkgo tree on the front lawn. It was the first time I noticed it lost all its leaves at once. I watch for ginkgoes every year, hoping to catch the "let loose" day. Most times I don't, but still, most times it's enough to walk out the door and find the ground fully covered in gold.

With the giving up

Comes the taking on.

The ginkgo outside the church

Finally let loose.

The ground is a sea of gold,

No matter the snow.

It is too late to rake.

The gold will remain

Under the snow

‘til spring.

It is the way

Of gingkoes

For those who see

Such things

And even for those

Who pay little attention,

It is still the way

Of gingkoes.

With the giving up

Comes the taking on

The watching for such things

As gingkoes loosing all their leaves

At once.

Gold leaves

More steps in gold leaves.

I wake and wonder

What next steps

I shall take,

What next steps

I shall put off

For now.

I know

They will come later.

I am on the road

To Oz.

Gold leaves

Cover the front walk.

My companions are often

Unlikely.

I am on the road

To Somewhere.

Gold leaves

Blanket the front walk

And yes

The back yard

As well.

Which door

Shall I use?

My companions offer

Different possibilities.

They search

For brains

For courage

For heart.

Gold leaves show us

The way.

We

All of us

Search for Home.

Overnight the redbud

Sometimes change feels immediate, even when we know it's been coming.

Overnight the redbud

Turned completely yellow

Even flung gold leaves

On the sidewalk

With last night’s rain.

Overnight

The redbud

Changed.

Sometimes change

Is like that

Sudden

Immediate.

We miss the first leaf

Then

Suddenly

Every leaf

Gets the message

The fall message,

Most at once.

Change is like that

Sometimes.

Every one of us is a saint

More on the icons. More on you. More on me. More on us.

Every one of us

Is a saint

Broken

Discarded

Maybe

Perhaps

We have been treated

As leftover wood

Until even one person arrives

Sees the gold

Even the possibility

Of gold

Within us

Writes our life

On wood

In gold

Perhaps a dragon

Under our feet,

Sword in hand

Kindly victory

In our eyes

Yes

Everyone is a saint

Every one of us

A reclaimed piece of wood

Perhaps reclaimed

Again and again.

Every one of us.

The woman works in wood

The exhibit at church (St. Mark's, Glen Ellyn) offers Sacred Icons by Mother Magdalena until Advent. They are stunning. Simply stunning. Every day when I walk in to church I choose an icon to spend time with. Then the day continues as it has begun.

The woman works in wood

Discarded wood

Thrown away

Odd old pieces.

They carry with them

Pictures

Of holy people

Pictures already there

To be drawn out

Noticed and written

Edged in gold

Stamped in silver

The woman works in wood

There are saints contained

In the wood

They must be written

So more will see.

Different order

I wondered for days and days whether this was perhaps not a "forsythia year." Other years have brought forsythia gold before the green buds. This year they arrived together.

The trees and bushes greened

Before the forsythia

Popped gold.

Spring arrived

In different order.

Perhaps it is always

In different order,

But I don’t notice.

On the front table

The pussy willow

The curly willow

Bud green

In the clear glass vase,

White root filaments

Beg to be planted

Out back

Next to the creek.

Winter gold

Waiting for the next glimpse of gold.

The trees transform to winter gold

When sunrise strikes them

Just so.

Ten minutes later

Stripped of royalty,

They go back to their disguise

Of black and white and gray.

I wait for gold again

Less momentary

More lasting.

I caught a glimpse of gold

This morning.

Trees transformed once

May surely encounter that change

Again.

Today begins again

It seems I have mastered the art of going back to bed for that extra sleep.  My beloved is winging his way to Denver to pick up our daughter, most of her worldly possessions, and a van.  I love them both. I am home, beginning the day again.

Today begins again

With sun

No gold leaves

But full sun the cat has found

On the bed upstairs.

I went back to bed

After the taxi came,

Fifteen minutes early

In the dark,

Early

A cardinal sin

For your 5 a.m. challenged soul

Especially when you stayed up

Rather later

Than you might.

Today begins again.

You are in the air

Sound asleep.

I am home.

I pay attention

To the cat

The turtle

One client this afternoon.

Today begins again.

There is sun.

I wonder the colors

Last week was mostly gold.  An unusual week.  I wait for the colors this week will bring.

I wonder the colors

Of this week coming,

Maybe not the golds

Of last week

But surely colors,

Surely more

Than simple shades of gray.

I wonder the palette

Of this week coming.

The day ended gold

A complete gold day, beginning to end.

The day ended gold

With rice and beans,

Cilantro and tomato.

The day ended gold

On complete hospitable ground.

Light in the darkness,

Gold in the conversation,

Possibility at the dining table,

Children running circles,

Prayer in the living room.

The day ended gold

Light in the darkness.

More treasure in a hidden field

Unearthed.

Good times

I love fall mornings like this one.  I am home today, coddling my cough and cold with water and hot tea.  This morning is still, pure, gold, a day begun with laughter.  That first shoe may never even drop.

In the still gold

Of this morning

We speak of how we are,

Each one of us.

Bad things come in threes

I say

Then laugh:

I’ve not even

Seen the first one yet.

He says

That’s a good one.

It’s like waiting for the first shoe

To drop.

We laugh

Move into the day

Still gold at its beginning.