Autumn-triggered nostalgia

The dogs and I got a really good look at an almost full moon this morning. It was bright white and high in the sky when we took our early after breakfast walk. As we reached the end of the drive and turned onto the road, I looked around and started to hear in my head the lyrics to a wonderful Cat Stevens hit from years ago. Although we posted yesterday that some call the September full moon the Harvest moon, I’ve always considered a harvest moon to be mellow yellow rather than bright white. Perhaps I’m remembering the years in which the Harvest moon occurred in October rather than September.

October full moon 2014

Photo by J. Harrington

Late night, early, early morning temperatures were in the low 40’s when the dog walking under the Harvest moon was going on. That contributed a lot to an autumnal atmosphere, although the deer we saw the other day are still in their summer coats. That must mean we’re in the midst of what I think of as a shoulder season, like the shoulder on a road is neither road nor field, we’re in the transition time between summer and autumn. Then shortly after peak autumn, we enter the shoulder between autumn and winter in late November, early December, unless, of course, we get another Halloween blizzard.

Lest we forget amidst the other trials and tribulations of the day:

Photograph from September 11

By Wisława Szymborska
Translated by Clare Cavanagh

They jumped from the burning floors—

one, two, a few more,

higher, lower.

The photograph halted them in life,

and now keeps them   

above the earth toward the earth.

Each is still complete,

with a particular face

and blood well hidden.

There’s enough time

for hair to come loose,

for keys and coins

to fall from pockets.

They’re still within the air’s reach,

within the compass of places

that have just now opened.

I can do only two things for them—

describe this flight

and not add a last line.

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