We live in a yellow wood in autumn. Makes me think of Robert Frost and "The Road Not Taken". It's very pretty, until the leaves fall. Then it becomes a ton of work moving the leaves around.
My back hurts, and I had almost no spare time this weekend. I could tell you about how frustrating my 12-hour day was at work with the water tank on Saturday and the part I couldn't find, or bitch about all the yard work we did today, or complain about the hours we spent removing the upstairs bathroom shower doors while we still have a construction dumpster in our driveway to throw them in. But instead, I choose to bring you this:
Gathering Leaves
Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags of leaves
Are light as balloons.
I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.
But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing into my arms
And into my face.
I may load and unload
Again and again
'Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?
Next to nothing for weight;
And since they grow duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.
Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?
-Robert Frost
Whenever you want to feel grounded and still let your spirit soar, I recommend that you read some Frost. I find his poetry especially suitable in autumn.
