A time to be reaping
A time to be sowing
A time just for living
A place for to die
Twas so good to be young then
To be close to the earth
Now the green leaves of summer
Are calling me home.
To be close to the earth
Now the green leaves of summer
Are calling me home.
Dimitri Tiomkin wrote the haunting melody; Paul Webster the lyrics. The song was written for the movie The Alamo, and was nominated for an Oscar. I've known the song since I was seven, and it has always moved me. The Brothers Four sang it for their entire career, and it was always welcomed by audiences.
It's late summer here at the Homestead, and the green leaves of summer are enjoying their last few weeks on their trees. While I always look forward to autumn, with chilly nights and mornings, different outdoor smells, wood fires in the fireplace, and the turning of leaves, it's always hard to say goodbye to summer. Even one that baked us with its heat and soaked us with humidity. Paradise is lost for another year. With the arrival of Equinox in just over 10 days, the approach of winter is now unstoppable.
Late summer seems a fitting time to be melancholy, and I think I always have been that way then. For most of my life it meant going back to school, either as a student for some 20 plus years, or as a teacher for nearly 40 years. We would often be returning from New Mexico in late August or early September, knowing we were faced with an abrupt lifestyle change: paradise lost, yet again. How many times can one lose his grip on paradise and still remain sane?
Of course retirement is like one long, continuous paradise, given financial security and decent health, along with enough interests to last more than ten lifetimes. But the ingrained feelings of what autumn brings never go away. It still seems like the end of something beautiful, and the start of something less so.
I will be posting less frequently for the near future. Whether through laziness or having nothing much to really say I cannot tell. I think I do have things to say, but it is taking time to formulate the words and thoughts. Thinking back on the highest and lowest points of one's lifetime is a bit of a chore, but I am slowly edging towards the challenge. Hopefully readers will check back once or twice a month to see how my progress is proceeding, or if it actually is. A memorial page to Mogi the cat is still forthcoming soon; I am not yet emotionally ready for that task.
In the meantime, here is another wonderful print from the DIA. This rock and its habitations look a lot like paradise to me. Paradise is a fantasy, of course, even for the rich and famous. But writers and artists can do a good job of sometimes convincing us otherwise.
Detail of the rock.
Mapman Mike
No comments:
Post a Comment