It hasn’t gotten cool enough here to feel like Fall. In fact, we’ve had a brutal September both in terms of scheduling but also in terms of heat and humidity. Perhaps that’s why my students and I have felt a bit on edge, lately. There’s definitely shifts in the seasons, in daylight, sunsets, darkness. I keep thinking of this poem by James Wright who I appreciated much more deeply after I lived in the Midwest landscape. This poem feels like Fall for me, for some reason.
Beginning by James Wright
The moon drops one or two feathers into the field. The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moon’s young, trying Their wings. Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone Wholly, into the air. I stand alone by an elder tree, I do not dare breathe Or move. I listen. The wheat leans back toward its own darkness, And I lean toward mine.