All Things Nice . . .

 

 

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I'd Like To Know

The things that pine trees whisper

In the still and dead of night,

The ageless tune that wild geese chant,

Through the long hours of flight.

I'd like to know what waters say,

Flowing toward the sea,

I'm sure they speak of quiet springs,

Back where they used to be.

Of sloping banks where cowslips bloom

And trees whose feet are pressed

Against the heart of Mother Earth,

Where all things come to rest.

I'd like to know the ageless song

That lonely mountains know,

When winter crowns their ancient peaks

With diadems of snow.

The language of the quiet beasts,

Must be a friendly thing,

When something deep within their breasts,

Is telling then of spring.

For Earth and all that dwells therein

Are part and parcel to

That spark of that eternal life,

That beats inside of you.

~Edna Jacques, I'd Like To Know

Fireside Poems, 1950

This is the very book that started my love of the poetry of Edna Jacques. It was a slim green covered book, the dust cover having long been lost, that sat in the small bookcase of our home the whole time I was growing up. I was always a voracious reader. I could never get enough of words.  I read all the books I had. I read all the books I could take out of the library. I read our encyclopedia, all of it, cover to cover . . . and I read this book of Fireside Poems. 

I forget where my mother got the book. I am sure it had been a gift to her at some time from someone. Mom was not a reader, and she didn't really read books. Not for fun anyways.  She did devour the newspaper every day, and I remember her reading short stories and articles from magazines. (I remember her liking True Story Magazine.)

Anyways, I loved this book, and frequently visited it. My mother gifted it to me one year and it travelled across Canada and back with me. It was something I read often through the years. It even crossed the Atlantic with me, a trip I am sure it had taken before when my parents moved to Germany when I was a baby.

It got left over in the U.K. with all of my other books when I came back to Canada four years ago.  It made me sad to have to leave it behind, but it was just one of the losses I had to bear that year.  A friend kindly gifted me with a new/old original volume of it, dust cover intact, at some point afterwards.  I was so, so very grateful for it. Nobody could have given me a nicer gift. Truly. It was like they had returned to me a piece of my broken heart that I thought I would never see again.

 

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“Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, 

and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth

 seeking the successive autumns.”

~George Eliot

I wonder what it is about Pumpkin Spice that makes everyone love it so. The smell, the taste . . . it is just a beautiful thing.  It is all of the delicious autumns of my lifetime rolled into one beautiful thing. I think that I can say without equivocation that the Autumn is my absolute favorite time of year, and it is all rolled up in Pumpkin Spice.

As I was leaving my sister's place the other evening, I caught such a beautiful scent of autumn in the air. And she must have heard me exclaim my pleasure out loud because she opened the door and breathed it in as well. And she said, the smell of autumn.  It was so tangible in that moment.  Dry leaves, woodsmoke, earthy and musky-sweet . . . the sugary smell of maple mingled with the last vestiges of the summer's warmth . . . evaporating slowly into the ether.

It is a smell that I love, and it takes me back to all of the autumns of my lifetime. Autumn is a one-of-a-kind smell that wraps us up in a comforting mix of biology, nostalgia, science and magic, pure magic. Soothing . . . almost like a warm and cozy hug.

 

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These last few weeks we have had some frosts. Our first of the autumn. Not terrifically deep, quite half-hearted but enough to take out the flower basket that decorated the front of my home all these summer months and turn it into a dead basket . . . a mere whisper of the glory it once brought.

All the gardens up and down the street have been put to bed now.  Plants trimmed back and soil overturned for the last time this year.  All is in preparation now for the really cold weather which lies ahead of us. The tall weeds in the ditch which runs along the road which passes to the East of us do not seem so disgraceful now. Occasionally you will come across something which still blooms, like a forgotten sun, hanging on a frost-burnt vine.  The last love, a note of the hunting horn, sweet on the threadbare wind, the dregs of sherry in the bottle, the final flight of the grackle blowing above the ravished cornfield . . . 

You will still see the occasional brown field, empty save a few lost pumpkins which sadly got left behind, their bright orange color popping against the starkness of everything else.  Forgotten  . . . you almost want to pick them up and cuddle them close, whispering "there, there" into their invisible ears . . . I see you. You are not forgotten.

 

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Yesterday, as I was on my way to my sister's place to pick her up, I was thinking about eyes and how they truly are the windows to the soul.  About how someone can look very unremarkable and almost unattractive. and then you look deep into their eyes, and . . .  like a special kind of magic, they become beautiful because their eyes reflect back to you the depth of their hopes and dreams, the measure of the soul behind them, their joys, their sorrows, the beauty that lies within. 

Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. This is true of everything. It is what looks out of our own eyes that makes loveliness. The essential you leaps from your eyes and is visible to all who take the time to notice.  The beauty of your youth is there, no matter what has ravaged your outsides. The imprint of your inner loveliness . . . your beautiful soul and all that it carries. Your past. Your present. Your future.

 

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I've always been observant, cognizant of the world around me.  I am grateful for that.  By being so I have collected jewels that are mine to hold in my heart, riches that are mine alone, that nobody can take away from me.  Of significant worth . . .  to me. I carry them with me always and they bear no weight. They are not unwieldly. They do not need a special case to hold them. They do not need me to protect them from the elements or prying eyes, fingers, hands. 

And whilst my thoughts and observations may be similar to those of others, they are also very unique to me.

 

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All week long I have been watching an episode or two of the Mary Tyler Moore show each evening on YouTube. I really enjoy them.  When I am watching them, they really bring a smile to my heart. I am a girl again. Just the theme song does it. It is great escapism from much of the negativity of the days we are living in. It was a much simpler time.

 

 

My brother and his wife at last night's

church Youth Group

Still smiling, still serving.

I have not much else to say this morning except to thank you for the many prayers and happy thoughts being offered on the behalf of my dear brother.  I will keep you up to date with what is going on. It is early days yet and decisions as far as treatment etc. have not been made. Hopefully he will not have to wait overly long for his CT scan.

Also, my dear friend Aileen passed away yesterday from Liver Cancer.  Please pray for her family. Thank you.

A thought to carry with you . . . 

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

•。★★ 。* 。
° 。 ° ˛˚˛ * _Π_____*。*˚
˚ ˛ •˛•˚ */______/~＼。˚ ˚ ˛
˚ ˛ •˛• ˚ ｜ 田田 ｜門 ★

 *.˛.°Every leaf speaks bliss to me
falling from the autumn tree.
~unknown° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

° * 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ •

In The English Kitchen today  . . .  Six Perfect Brownies.  Perfect for the smaller family or for someone who doesn't want an overload of temptation sitting on the counter.  Rich, dense, chewy, fudgy, delicious. 

I hope you have a beautiful weekend!  I hope to do a video today and tomorrow afternoon I am having my next booster. I finally managed to bag an appointment!  Whatever you get up to, stay safe, be happy and don't forget!

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And I do too!