Saturday, October 5, 2013

Whither the weather?

Welcome. Some of us decided that this would be a good day for some quiet time in the house. The weather seems to support that strategy although this should be close to the peak leaf color weekend. At least we're not enjoying the 33" of snow they got in the Black Hills.The aspiring poet in the house sent off a block of poems to a literary journal as part of a continuing quest to get published or collect rejection letters. [Did you know that Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was rejected more than 100 times (I think 106) before it was published? Rejection keeps us in good company.] The word I think I've been seeking to describe the weather is flat, as in flat-line. At the moment, there's no breeze, no rain, no sun, nada.

photo of flat, gray sky
today's weather             © harrington

We seem to be a county or so south of the ruffed grouse range in Minnesota, although years ago I did see one nearby, so the Autumn crazy flight doesn't put our windows in jeopardy. When the young of the year head off for new territories, they've been known to try to fly through windows. A case of tunnel vision if ever. Turkeys, of which we have quite a few in the neighborhood, seem to split by gender, but otherwise stay pretty well flocked up during the Winter.

photo of toms and jake turkeys
toms and jakes             © harrington

Most of the pears that were on the ground are gone. I can't prove who's eating them, but here's a picture of my prime suspect.


One of my favorite local poets has a pear tree poem that fits the day and season.
,br /.

Green Pear Tree in September

By Freya Manfred

On a hill overlooking the Rock River
my father’s pear tree shimmers,
in perfect peace,
covered with hundreds of ripe pears
with pert tops, plump bottoms,
and long curved leaves.
Until the green-haloed tree
rose up and sang hello,
I had forgotten. . .
He planted it twelve years ago,
when he was seventy-three,
so that in September
he could stroll down
with the sound of the crickets
rising and falling around him,
and stand, naked to the waist,
slightly bent, sucking juice
from a ripe pear.

Thanks for listening. Come again when you can. Rants, raves an reflections served here daily. Pears on occasion in season.