Again Autumn

In mid-October I stand on the beach near my cottage,
feeling a gasp of air pushing on my present, and
pulling on my past with the sharpness
of an unexpected slap.
I make every possible attempt to live steeped in the clarity
defined by the changing seasons; in the cool reality
delivered gently in the cupped hands of the fall winds.
My attention is drawn to the gaudy yellow/red/orange
of the leaves on nearby Maples, sharp in contrast and falling
with pride to the ground, like the fireworks displays
of July 4th.
I am reminded of life and death, and can only wish my end
to be as beautiful and meaningful in its necessity to nature
as this expression of graceful passing.
I know that I will have many additional opportunities
to experience the vagaries of fall. Of all seasons, really.
And joy is taken in this knowledge.
To witness the burst of spring foliage
in its youthful excesses; to stand in the intimacy
of a late winter snowfall. All these things represent the book of life
from which no chapter, no page, no single word, can
or should be altered.
I, too, am reminded of my childhood. The exuberance of body,
the utter lack of trepidation. A life to be faced, at least for a while,
with the naive insight of youth. I don t regret one minute of it.
Not even the opaque realities I mistook for truth. It is all part
of the price for the next level of understanding: seeing with a mature
eye the openness of the world, of the many possibilities of each future.
So I accept, with a humble spirit, the gifts allowed, and turn a stone face
To the cruelties I hear exist.