Boo!

When life gives you lemons...

It is raining in Illinois. Again. Still. 23 out of the last 30 days it has rained, more than any October in the last 80+ years. I vaguely remember sunshine.

Today, I quit bitching, put on my wellies and went for a walk in the rain with my dog. Look at the yellows! My front yard  is an oasis, an eruption of yellows and browns with some pink thrown in for fun. Today, I am grateful for the rain that let these colors bloom, and for the snowglobe falling leaf extravaganza. As always, the camera didn't even come close to capturing the depth of color.

I didn't plant these shrubs, they are native viburnums that love the shade of the oak and hickory trees, and the ungodly amounts of rain this month. They remind me of daffodils and narcissus.

I don't remember a fall this pretty since I've lived in the midwest, and I have to thank the rain.

Thanks, rain. But enough already, OK?

Foggy Morning Riverwalk

The camera didn't even come close to capturing what my eyes saw, the lush velvety muted brilliance of all the colors, the smell of the water, the sounds of the geese and the Jays, the feel of my wet pants and feet. It was the best part of my day.

Mockingbirds by Mary Oliver

This morning

two mockingbirds

in the green field

were spinning and tossing

the white ribbons

of their songs

into the air.

I had nothing

better to do

than listen.

I mean this

seriously.

In Greece,

a long time ago,

an old couple

opened their door

to two strangers

who were,

it soon appeared,

not men at all,

but gods.

It is my favorite story--

how the old couple

had almost nothing to give

but their willingness

to be attentive--

but for this alone

the gods loved them

and blessed them--

when they rose

out of their mortal bodies,

like a million particles of water

from a fountain,

the light

swept into all the corners

of the cottage,

and the old couple,

shaken with understanding,

bowed down--

but still they asked for nothing

but the difficult life

which they had already.

And the gods smiled, as they vanished,

clapping their great wings.

Wherever it was

I was supposed to be

this morning--

whatever it was I said

I would be doing--

I was standing

at the edge of the field--

I was hurrying

through my own soul,

opening its dark doors--

I was leaning out;

I was listening.



The Atlantic Monthly; February 1994; Mockingbirds; Volume 273, No. 2; page 80.

Leaves

These colors are ridiculous.