Autumn's gold

Sunsets the past few days have been beautiful, with bands of saffron silhouetting tree branches now barren of leaves. Lawns, drives and roads daily wear fresh shawls of fallen leaves. Yet not all the trees nor all their branches are Winter-bare nor are all the fields harvested.

Autumn's thinning leaves of gold and bronze

Photo by J. Harrington

Tamaracks are now among the golden choirs bringing candle flames to landscapes. Early morning grasses are frost-sparkled, as if starlight had fallen among the stems and blades. We've been reassured to see the Big Dipper the past few mornings as we've walked the dogs.

Yesterday we briefly drove through a mini-blizzard that, were it Summer, would have been a single cell thunderstorm. We're now definitely in the times of "if you don't like the weather, wait a minute..."

homemade artisan sourdough bread

Photo by J. Harrington

Soon open waters will be frozen over. The ground will be coated with snow. We'll be locked into a cold cycle for several months, broken by occasional ice storms or Winter thaws. Fortunately, it's also a season of home-baked bread and home-made soups and stews for the fortunate among us. It's only about a month until the Thanksgiving holidays. That's not too early to think about what we have to be grateful for and how that should be reflected by our votes on November 6. Are you planning to support greed or kindness as you fill in circles or make X's? You are planning to vote, aren't you? Those who could vote but don't won't even get coal in their stockings at yule tide. Coal's getting left in the ground due to climate change.

Like You

Roque Dalton, 1935- 1975

translated by Jack Hirschman

homemade artisan sourdough bread Like you I
love love, life, the sweet smell
of things, the sky-blue
landscape of January days.
And my blood boils up
and I laugh through eyes
that have known the buds of tears.
I believe the world is beautiful
and that poetry, like bread, is for everyone.
And that my veins don’t end in me
but in the unanimous blood
of those who struggle for life,
love,
little things,
landscape and bread,
the poetry of everyone.

---

Como Tú

Yo, como tu,
amo el amor, la vida, el dulce encanto
de las cosas, el paisaje
celeste de los días de enero.
También mi sangre bulle
y río por los ojos
que han conocido el brote de las lágrimas.
Creo que el mundo es bello,
que la poesía es como el pan, de todos.
Y que mis venas no terminan en mí
sino en la sange unánime
de los que luchan por la vida,
el amor,
las cosas,
el paisaje y el pan,
la poesía de todos.

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