Autumn – T. E. Hulme
A touch of cold in the Autumn night—
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
Moving to a new part of the country means getting accustomed to a new set of seasons. It is newly October, and while the leaves are turning, the weather seems to be fighting the season change here in Cincinnati.
Or maybe this is the season change.
This kind of indefinite feeling – which only comes from rooting one’s self up and relocating to a new context – is very much the kind of place poetry comes from.
There’s a term we use in teaching English Composition when talking about feeling one’s way through unknown material, that instead of fighting it one must wallow in complexity – I love that! It’s like advice for life.
And for seasons, too.
Happy wallowing!
Jose
