The Cricket's Lamenting Goodbyes

I had forgotten until now,

That these woods and foothills,

These stalky cat-tails and this secluded pond, 

Were my friends.

I had forgotten,

The sharp impertanence of the autumn wind,

The song of thousands of tall strands of pale-yellow grass,

And the unforsaken peace of the natural world. 

I had forgotten until now,

The idleness of trees, and roots, and stumps,

And ducks.

Out of neglect, I had forgotten them. 

I chose instead, 

The contrivances of Man, 

The promise of uncontended dominion,

To this slowly progressing wild. 

I chose the comfort of stagnation over this belligerent up-country, and missed all this. 

I wish I had come back

The last two weeks of summer,

To this very place, 

To hear the last of the crickets lamenting goodbyes.

I wish I had disturbed myself enough 

To hike up this hill in the early morning,

To watch as the warblers,

Flew south. 

I wish I had a single memory 

Of the oppressive heat of this late summer’s nights.

Alas, I cannot count

Even one. 

Thank God for the seasons!

They remind us,

All things must come to an end.

That life is a struggle, and passing, and worth living. 

They remind us,

Life is not for the inane purpose 

Of arriving safely at death.

They remind us,

It is not for crowding ourselves in with little luxuries so,

As to forget our own imminent decay.

They remind us,

It is not for staid happiness,

Or well laid comforts.

It is to 

Be like these glorious purple Aster woods. 

Which bloom in the fall, with no regard for their length of life,

Or the promise of Summer. 

It is to 

Come forth in a miracle of color, offering everything,

though living gutters your fire.

It is to

Pass out of this existence -fully open and fat with splendor.

It is for the augustness and glory of the One True God.