Any Season

Lone walkers
passing at a distance
on a chilly,
November beach.
One voice
carried on the wind
rang out,
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Always.”
came the smiling response.

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Quiet Season

Long stretch of beach.
Densely populated,
so carefully groomed
in summer.
Left to seabirds and seaweed
under leaden skies
of late fall.

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Discovery in the Morning Light

Clocks fell back this morning. Groans on all sides that we’ve been robbed of an hour of daylight. This moan is only tempered by the realization (at least for some) that it also means an extra hour of sleep on this lazy Sunday morning.

For a person who routinely rises at 5 AM, this time shift is a bonus. Light filters in an hour earlier in the morning, shining on the start of a new day. The fact that darkness creeps in earlier at the end of day seems only fair. Life is a balancing act. Only dedicated morning people could understand and celebrate with me, but they must be out there somewhere. Most people I know just complain about the darkness and ignore the morning light.

Spent my early morning today going through cookbooks. Plans for an at home Sunday include braising a chuck roast in a slow oven. Now, I know how to do this, but I was just wondering if there was a new spin that might enhance the end product. What I found instead was the source of my basic knowledge.

Did you ever think about how you first learned to do something that now seems so firmly fixed that you feel as though you created the process on your own? I realized this morning that my ingrained process for making pot roast came from Jeff Smith’s 1987 cookbook, The Frugal Gourmet Cooks American.

Opening to the page for “Yankee Pot Roast” brought me back to another time and place. The adaptations in my handwriting spoke to a serious attempt to master a process that was new to me at the time. I may feel as though I own this basic recipe now, but it’s time that credit should be given to the source.

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Mellow Yellow

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autumn’s golden glow
mood as much as hue
subtle and serene

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Swans

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bonded life partners
symbols of grace and beauty
gliding on the marsh

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Cranberries

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almost harvest time
flooding of bogs in progress
floating fruit to follow

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Rituals

 

And the rituals of Fall begin in earnest
once the thermostat calls for heat.
Air conditioner vents closed,
as the furnace assumes its place of dominance
for the long months ahead.
Mums and pumpkins guard the door.
Squash and apples fill bowls on the kitchen counter.
Happens quickly and predictably.
We know it’s coming, so why the surprise?
Mornings are slow to arrive.
Open drapes frame blinking yellow
among the green in the oaks in the yard.
All but empty beach still a draw,
but sweatshirts protect against the October chill.
Blue water of summer tending towards gray.
Pumpkin carving trumping sand castle building
as the project of the day.
And so we’ll reach for fleece to ward off the chill;
bake a pie perhaps, or stir a pot of soup.
Each season has its own rituals.
In Fall, we button up and wind down.

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