Have you ever looked for one thing and found something else as you searched? Found something unexpected, maybe even something quite special?
Little girl wheeling on her tricycle (her teddy bear in tow) catching a falling leaf . . . just in time
The Back Story
Such a thing happened earlier this month when artist Cliff found this piece of autumn artwork in his files when he was looking for another photo. Then he found a poem he wrote years ago when he was doing art shows in October 1995, possibly in northern Alabama.
Recently Cliff was looking for photos on another computer hard drive and came across the artwork of a little girl on a tricycle holding up a fall leaf. When he saw the artwork he remembered that he had written a few lines about autumn on Sunday, October 15, 1995 and mailed it along with several brightly colored fall leaves sealed with laminated plastic in the mail to me.
Researching his airline schedule during that time, Cliff found out the autumn leaves were sent from Huntsville, Alabama. Later on when he was back in Jacksonville he noticed that the leaves mounted on window panes were still bright orange, yellow, and red.
His 4-line Poem
Show the colors
Pump up the volume
Herald its coming
Autumn is here!
In the mail with the poem came lovely autumn leaves to our home, where no fall foliage can be found. (Oak leaves here in Florida usually turn from green to brown. Here. their DNA doesn’t allow them to turn to more attractive russet, bronze. or copper before they fall off.)
Back in 1995, leaves tumbled out of the oversized envelope. Thrilled with the unexpected find, I displayed the brilliant leaves (laminated to preserve their beauty) on window panes in our family room.. Their colors shone like prisms of stained glass on our family room floor.
Another poet, Latin American Pablo Neruda, describes autumn using word pictures. Neruda creates sensory images of a loved one before the memory vanishes: gray beret, eyes, light, smoke, a still pond—a still heart.
The memory is fleeting, like “dry autumn leaves.”
I Remember You As You Were
I remember you as you were in the last autumn.
You were the grey beret and the still heart.
In your eyes the flames of the twilight fought on.
And the leaves fell in the water of your soul.Clasping my arms like a climbing plant
the leaves garnered your voice, that was slow and at peace.
Bonfire of awe in which my thirst was burning.
Sweet blue hyacinth twisted over my soul.I feel your eyes traveling, and the autumn is far off:
Grey beret, voice of a bird, heart like a house
Towards which my deep longings migrated
And my kisses fell, happy as embers.Sky from a ship. Field from the hills:
Your memory is made of light, of smoke, of a still pond!
Beyond your eyes, farther on, the evenings were blazing.
Dry autumn leaves revolved in your soul.
Strictly speaking, the poem is not a sonnet, but, as one analyst explains, the lines tumble like falling leaves, mimicking how memories of the beloved actually flood in.
Coming next: Two Fun Facts: a Moment of Ecstasy, and Seven Cups of Thankfulness
Your Turn
Have you ever looked for one thing and found something else as you searched?
What images of fall have come to mind reading this post?
Good morning, Marian! I know I have had that happen, but right now, I can’t think of an example. It’s a lovely find by Cliff, which has also triggered the memory for you.
(Maybe this will work as a poetry prompt. 😊)
Thank you for the beautiful Neruda poem, too!
Yes, one thing leads to another. Cliff keeps everything! Even hard drives on old computers, which helps him access a whole bunch of stuff he didn’t remember he had.
Neruda uses word pictures, as you do in your own poetry. It just seems to flow out of you, these days often prompted by the season. Huge thanks, Merril.
Hello Marian, my memories are less poetic and more autumn heralds the winter. And as you may know. winters in Blighty are wet and grey.
What a joy to see you here, Joy! I had to look up “Blighty” because I thought it was the name of a town in England. To my surprise, my search said that the word is “an informal, old-fashioned, or affectionate slang term used to refer to England as “home.” Well, I learned something new so early this morning.
Thank you!
Recently I decided to sort things out of a very small closet where our grandsons enjoy the magic of various toys, Legos, games, etc. Then I found a box of records there–the old “33” type records that you actually played on a real record player. I found numerous hymnal type records that I used to love to play, but now I wouldn’t begin to know how to play them! I plan to carry them (very very heavy) to an antique place which takes things and resells them to persons who want them. I think I will need to put them in a couple of boxes–can’t lift them! Ask Cliff if he has a poem for that! Ha.
Yes, old vinyl records are really quite collectible. There’s resurgence of interest in them in the last five years or so. You could sell them for money!
If you bring them to our house, we do have a turn-table. Ha!
Another thought: I believe you need Stuart to muscle them from the closet. (Please don’t break your back.)
I’ve been ready for falling leaves but they’re just now starting to let go in Iowa. At least they are still pretty and still on the trees.