Forecast: Intermittent Light

My camera is always looking for flowers, for colour, for signs of blue sky. It has been grey for so long - all but one day since October began, but today there were small pieces of blue. The moon was there, too, between all those clouds - a pale waxing crescent. And there were wild asters still blooming - frills of petals surrounding more than a dozen yellow suns.

Summer and fall have been so strange this year. The leaves do not know what to do, so they keep hanging on. Usually, they would have fallen weeks ago.

Sunshine/Blue Sky

Today the sun shone. It has been cloudy for so long, I have no idea where my sunglasses are. Last week's snow is gone and the grass is still green - that last gasp of summer kind of green. My mom and I cleaned up my yard today - raked and bagged leaves, pruned perennials, planted tulip bulbs, swept sidewalks. By next weekend the leaves in the front yard will be on the ground - just a little more raking and we will all be ready for winter - the leaves, the trees, the garden, the grass. Me? I do not think I am ever really ready for winter, but sunny, summery pictures like this one help.

"Beauty is not a luxury but a strategy for survival."

- Terry Tempest Williams

Green and White

It is Thanksgiving weekend in Canada I am trying to be thankful for snow, but hoping that it is not permanent. The leaves on most of the trees are still green, the grass on the lawns, too. It is perfect snowman snow - sticky and wet. We should gather all the children we can find and start rolling and rolling huge snowballs, changing the white world back into green. In my backyard the lap of my poetry chair is white. The picnic table, too. And the leaves of all my lilies and peonies are heavy and drooping - the first night of frost was also the first night of snow. But the sun shone a little today, melting some of this away. I so much prefer the company of flowers to the company of snow. Lucky for me, the mums are still blooming, the sedum, too.

Stars On Her Toes

OUTDOOR SHOES

Anosha, at school, six years old with so many rules to learn - indoor shoes, outdoor shoes; Grade 1 Swing Day, Not Grade 1 Swing Day. Front of the line, back of the line. The classroom air fills up with words. With words and directions. "Everyone line up now. Everyone sit down now." But words, for her, are like the wind, impossible to hold, hard to see. And so, because words just blow, I take pictures for her. Swing. Book. Chair. Indoor shoes. Outdoor shoes with stars on her toes. After recess, after the swings, wearing her indoor shoes, Anosha draws and sings her own private song, letting me in, just a little. "Draw eyes. Draw eyes. Draw a shirt. Draw a shirt. Draw pants. Draw pants. A triangle! A square! A house!" My walls fill up with her pictures, my heart with her song.

My days, as a teacher, without my own class, flit by. A little of this. A little of that. Too many meetings with adults, too few with children. But then, there are gifts like this - 30 uninterrupted minutes with Anosha - her wide-open eyes, her glowing skin, her small hand holding a marker, her little song, pictures emerging in front of my eyes. For me, there is no greater joy in teaching than learning from children - sitting beside them, watching them, listening to them, following their lead so that I can be let in. They are the best teachers of all.

Still Blooming

September has been summer. Summer has been September. Here is the bee that buzzed from sunflower to sunflower last nigh at the community gardens. Lucky flowers! Lucky bee! Lucky me, to have had summer come at last, and hang around for as long as it has - zinnias still in full bloom, pumpkins turning more orange each day, cosmos swaying, late summer raspberries still ripening. The weather people say everything changes tomorrow when fall arrives - wind, rain, more wind, more rain. But tonight, the windows are wide open, warm air is everywhere, and this is the only season there is.

Last night I dreamed - blessed illusion -

that I had a beehive here

in my heart

and that the golden bees were making

white combs and sweet honey

from my old failures.

- Anthony Machado

translated by Robert Bly

So Many Gifts

Poetry Chair

School, September, work. Life has been crazy - not much time to sit in a poetry chair, or any other chair. I am longing for Definitely Not School Summer Camp. Years ago, this chair was a gift from my students - built by a grandfather and covered in poetry and messages written by the children. It is a one-of-a-kind chair, there is nothing like it anywhere else in the world. It has been sitting in my green backyard, in the rain, and the sun, all summer long. Soon it will be moved inside, put away for another season. I never thought I would feel like a chair, but I do. Letting go of summer is hard.

Meanwhile . . . more gifts. Leaving my house this morning, I found a book at my front door. An amazing collection of poetry written by Jade DeFehr, one of my past summer Definitely Not School kids. She is fourteen now and spent part of the summer traveling with her family, so I have not seen her, or heard from her in more than a year. The book was a complete surprise. Because she was not coming to camp, she decided to write a poem a day all summer long. I had been looking for a new poet to carry in my bag and there she was waiting at my door - sixty-two amazing poems - she did not miss one day! It is all of July and August between two covers. I am in absolute awe! If I could have written a book, this is the one I would have written. Here is the first poem in the collection. Thank you, thank you, Jade.

Wednesday 1st

I've met just two,

or maybe three

people

who know what I know.

Maybe you know it too, but like

most other things,

it only counts if you can

put it to words.

September Lilies

It is the beginning of September, the end of summer, but to walk outside it would seem that summer has just arrived. For the past week, we have had the warmest, driest days in a year, and it is strange to be thinking of going back to school when the weather is telling us to go the beach or the lake or anywhere but back to school. For a week I have been walking past these lilies blooming in front of my old school They are stunning September lilies, more than a dozen white blossoms the size of dinner plates, their scent completely intoxicating. Even the lilies are saying SUMMER, not FALL. But, the sun is rising later each day, setting earlier. These days, when I return from my evening walk, it is dark and dusky, nearly night.

LABOUR DAY WEEKEND

- Myra Cohn Livingston

Packing

up her picnic

pouring cold lemonade

in the park grass, Summer says

good-bye.