Today, a poem by Louise Glück. Glück writes quite a lot of seasonal poetry, and has written an extensive amount set in the fall. This one comes from her recent release, A Village Life, and is called "Harvest". It was featured at The Writer's Almanac the other day, which is where I'll be sending you to read the balance of the poem. It's not what I'd call a cheerful poem, yet I couldn't help but like its imagery.
by Louise Glück
It's autumn in the market—
not wise anymore to buy tomatoes.
They're beautiful still on the outside,
some perfectly round and red, the rare varieties
misshapen, individual, like human brains covered in red oilcloth—
Inside, they're gone. Black, moldy—
you can't take a bite without anxiety.
Here and there, among the tainted ones, a fruit
still perfect, picked before decay set in.
Read the rest here.
On a sunny day like today, when the leaves are only just starting to turn and the grass is still visible and green, it's difficult to believe that winter is creeping up on us, yet with the temperatures in the 40s here at night and the shadows grown so long on the lawn, I know it must be so.