Saturday, November 5, 2011

swing time

Falling Back

Imagine Ginger, swirling away from Fred's outstretched
hands, then in again before an extravagant backward dip.
Outside, leaves are the color of her hair and today it is
we who fall back. A gift has been left anonymously
on the nightstand next to a cup of coffee with steam
swirling above the caramel surface. It is a
gently ticking clock, pewter with generous black
numerals on a white face, outstretched hands
beckoning to a place out of time.

Back to the carpet of camellia petals strewn across
the yard, to the startling yellow ginkgo tree on the
Episcopal church grounds, to the perfume of nutmeg,
clove and cardamon in a dense loaf of tea bread.
Back to mist shrouded mornings giving way to
golden afternoons, October disappearing into
brocaded, bejeweled November in a flurry of
sweet ghosts and remembered saints.

If this is a treatise on joy, it is also one of sorrow.
Of daylight and darkness, of the empty place at
the table, the toys boxed and placed in the attic,
the bulbs planted yesterday that will not break
ground until spring. At the very same time, it is
the sweet serendipity of a few more pages read
while curled up in the old wingback chair, of the
scarf finally knitted to fruition, of curried
carrot soup simmering on the stove.

©julie degni marr 2005


Cathy Monetti said...

November, exactly.

Anonymous said...

Beautiful college. Beautiful time of the year.