On the fifth day
the scientists who studied the rivers
were forbidden to speak
or to study the rivers.

The scientists who studied the air
were told not to speak of the air,
and the ones who worked for the farmers
were silenced,
and the ones who worked for the bees.

Someone, from deep in the Badlands,
began posting facts.

The facts were told not to speak
and were taken away.
The facts, surprised to be taken, were silent.

Now it was only the rivers
that spoke of the rivers,
and only the wind that spoke of its bees,

while the unpausing factual buds of the fruit trees
continued to move toward their fruit. . .

~Excerpt from On the Fifth Day, Jane Hirshfield - 1953-

Waking into October, day of the full moon. October! Already! Sweetly warm outside. Charlie and Suzi and I walk to the river and under the changing canopy in the phenomenal fall colors all around me. I have this awareness, early fall is so much like early spring in New England. The excitement of change and the charge of color and the scent of a new season so strong in the fresh air. I feel the same pulls in fall as in spring: to be out experiencing the beauty that is here today, and fleeting. Indoors, I have taken a break from my Thursday poetry workshop so I can finish the taxes for the accountant. But first, I am a listener and a coach, and grateful to provide this. There is a baby coming. A pregnant mother is such a powerful creator, bringing a whole new life out of her body into the world to be a whole new person. This is a momentous and awesome process. To be a mother of a mother about to give birth is a new role for me. I am able to be with her, next to her. How fortunate I am. I see her meet challenges and conflicts and move through them and solve them with energy and assertiveness and vulnerability and courage. And, my husband calls me to his computer: here are our dear friends from Paris to say hello to. A strange Paris they are living in, a Paris without tourists. We wonder when we will be able to meet in person again, on their continent or ours. I feel a sense of embarrassment, too. I know what they are seeing going on in our country. What can I say? Then, my son and his girlfriend are in the yard, but I can only wave and take myself to my computer. Somehow my taxes get done in this day, sent off to the accountant. And, we take our swim in Farm Pond. Is this our last? It’s warm and cloudy and the bright leaves spill the surface of the shore, but we’re in, and we are swimming around the island, and Charlie is with us and the sun comes out from the clouds to warm us a bit. The windows are open. The moon is high and lit in the sky. Just as we were about to swim my daughter saw the lovely dragonfly. Sweet dragonfly, saying goodbye with us to summer. Welcome to October.