The Tao of Autumn

He who knows that enough is enough will always have enough.

                                                                        --Lao Tzu

I noticed yesterday that fallen leaves are scattered along city streets.

And when I got home, I realized that our river birch 

had already lost nearly half of its leaves.

There's nothing that says approaching autumn more than falling leaves.

And seeing so many thousands of leaves drifting from the trees

always makes me marvel at the abundance nature brings.

~

I've mentioned before my dad's reminiscences, 

and one thing he often remarked upon was 

how much he enjoyed his extended family's working together 

to harvest the remaining fruits of summer and early autumn.

He would talk about the orchard "at home," saying:

There's nothing better than coming home from school in the afternoon

in the fall of the year and going out to the orchard,

and climb up clear to the top and get a nice big, juicy peach and eat it.

That remark has always stuck with me. 

Not just because of the image of my father as a happy young boy,

but because something whispers to me 

that his appreciation of the harvest and the season 

offers a simple yet profound wisdom 

about the good things that life gives us 

without our first seeking after them.

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Bright Star

One of the earliest memories I have of my paternal grandfather 

is from a summer night 

when he and my grandmother sat in lawn chairs in their backyard,

looking up at the night sky.

 I was running myself silly chasing my cousins around the house, 

stopping occasionally to wiggle my way into Grandpa's chair 

before jumping out to continue the chase.

One time after pushing my way on and off of his chair,

he said, "Stay here with me and look at the stars."

I looked  up; the sky was dark, the stars sparkling. 

And then I was off again.

Image courtesy of :

<p>Image: <a href="http://www.freedigitalphotos.net" target="_blank">FreeDigitalPhotos.net</a></p> 

~

Looking at the stars has always been a family pastime.

Some summer nights, we would sit on blankets in the front yard and stargaze.

My dad would point out the only two constellations he knew: 

the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper.

Then he would direct our attention to the Milky Way Galaxy's billions of stars

 sweeping across the sky.

We didn't really care that we didn't know the names of the stars.

It was enough to sit together in the dark and see them twinkling.

~

The other morning we were awake before dawn, 

and my husband told me there was another bright star in the sky.

I went outside and looked. The bright star in the eastern sky sparkled brilliantly.

I'm not sure if it was Venus or Sirius, the Dog Star.

As in my childhood, the sparkle was the more important part,

and I was excited to see that the dark sky was full of bright stars.

~ 

I had been thinking of stars since then, how much I like them,

how infrequently they are visible amidst the wash of city lights.

Then yesterday, a friend of mine showed me a poem he had copied:

Bright Star by Keats. 

That seemed a happy coincidence, and the poem is beautiful,

so I want to include part of it here:

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task,

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors ...

The poem finishes with a declaration of love.

Love and stars remain intertwined through the centuries.

And it's nice to know that when we're looking up at the stars here,

someone we love may be looking up at them from afar.

As the lyrics of the song "Somewhere out There" reassure us,

we might be wishing on the same bright star.

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To Watch the Wind

To the mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders.

                                                                 --Lao Tzu

Sometimes there are days so filled with obligations,

there is little time for anything else but tending them.

On those days, I often find myself wishing that I could just stop everything: 

the plans, the demands and activities of the day,

the planning for tomorrow, for next week, and for a month from now.

And if I could stop it all for a moment, I would sit.

I would feel the warmth of the afternoon sun on my face.

I would listen to the birds sing and 

watch the wind blow through the grass.

And I would stay there until the evening shadows fell around me.

~

Most western cultures are ageric, 

meaning they value ceaseless productivity and action.

In these cultures, just spending one's time sitting is considered slothful.

But in non-ageric cultures, sitting is a respected pastime.

The value of just sitting as the moments slip away is understood.

~

And as the autumnal equinox approaches, 

it seems to me that if seasons were cultures, 

spring and summer would be ageric 

and fall and winter would be non-ageric.

In autumn the striving of summer ceases, 

and everything begins its rest.

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