november on the prairie

Eleven asparagus ferns took up residence inside today, their airy coolness out of place in a house preparing for Thanksgiving. The wind has picked up and the temperature is dropping. My cat hurries past me; he thinks the leaves are stalking him and his fur stands on end. I can taste winter coming and it tastes fresh and bitter.

A long time ago I read about the concept of "connectors", those moments in time that take you back to an experience that was either good or bad. This morning the air outside smelled like Germany; it tasted like the day my oldest son was born, a day when powdered sugar snow was sprinkled on the grayness of a mountain morning. It was a nice thought, a memory of a time when I was young and had my own babies, when I was still in the spring of my life.

My son-in-law introduced me to an author who was new to both of us and it has been like meeting a new friend, so personal and reflective are his words. He says we should picture our lives like a book and ask ourselves where our bookmark is today. (I think I am somewhere in August.) At any rate, it has caused me to think alot about how I am spending my life and where I want to be through the fall and winter months that are still coming. It is making me evaluate June and July, to be honest.

Here is another nice prairie poem:

Four Kinds of Lilacs
by Leo Dangel
in Home from the Field

"Why don't you turn at the next corner,"
she said, "and take another road home.
Let's go past that farm with all
the different colored lilacs."

"That's seven miles out of the way,"
he said. "I wanted to plant the rest
of the corn before evening. We
can look at lilacs some other time."

"It'll take only a few minutes,"
she said. "You know that lilacs
aren't in bloom for long...if we
don't go know, it will be too late."

"We drove past there last year,"
he said. "They're like any other lilacs
except for the different colors. The rest
of the year, they're all just bushes."

"They're lilac, purple, white, and pink,"
she said. "And today, with no breeze,
the scent will hang in the air...no flowers
smell as good as lilacs in the spring."

"I thought of planting lilacs once,"
he said, "for a windbreak in the grove.
The good smell lasts only a few days.
I suppose we can go, if we hurry."