Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Linda Pastan: "September"

"John the Baptist in the Wilderness," by Geertgen tot Sint-Jans
(click to see the really wonderful detail of his sad and lonely feet)

by Linda Pastan

it rained in my sleep
and in the morning the fields were wet

I dreamed of artillery
of the thunder of horses

in the morning the fields were strewn
with twigs and leaves

as if after a battle
or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in summer
I dreamed of rain

in the morning the fields were wet
and it was autumn

. . . and here is the power of poetry.

Last night I set this poem to post this morning - a warm night in late summer. And in the morning awoke to the sound of rain and a cold bedroom. The poem had come true.

I put on, for the first time this morning, a jacket and flannel-lined jeans to walk the hills.

Summer is over.

Yes, she may come back, all golden and blowsy-petaled like an opera star for a final farewell performance - and then again, perhaps, for a really, truly final farewell performance. But we all know. 

Summer is over.

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