Friday, October 3, 2014


Morning: the air is cool, but the lack of fog tells me that later today will be hot as it often is in early autumn in California. Right now our backyard is quiet, interrupted only by the 'chuck-chuck' of two squirrels. Two deer on the hill flicker their ears to chase away the flies. A red spider, no bigger than a pen point, zigzags across my page in pursuit of something even smaller. A hummingbird whirls over my head and then darts to the feeder nearby. The sun, as it rises over our hill, makes some of the leaves glow while others remain in darkness. Spiderwebs wave in the slight breeze that filters down from the hill and touches my legs. Everything else is still. A plane overhead inches slowly across the sky; its speed reduced by the distance it travels. Its last rumble evaporates like a Buddhist chime that you continue to listen to even when it is gone.

It's morning and it is still quiet. The deer get up one by one to stretch. They settle back down at the top of the hill rather than move on to the day's hiding place. The sun rises higher and brushes my table with the beginnings of warmth. The finches and wrens snatch seeds from the bird feeders. The blue jays and crows haven't flown in yet to start their raucous debates. A car goes by and I hear the slap of the newspaper as it hits the front walkway. It is time for a cup of coffee and to begin again.


  1. Hi Martha. It was wonderful to meet you last weekend in Petaluma. This is such a beautiful poetic reflection on autumn, and I especially love the line "Its last rumble evaporates like a Buddhist chime that you continue to listen to even when it is gone." Thank you for sharing.

  2. This is so lovely. Thanks for sharing, Martha.


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