Blooming in the Gloom

Equinox

One wakens to find an autumnal gloom
has lowered the boom on summer.
The bright yellow days segue to grays,
and the loins that ran rampant grow still
Yes, autumn is crisp with colors in the mist,
with apples and pumpkins galore, but still –
And not the least of all are the colors of fall
and the riotous joy in the trees. But please
let the haze drift away and the sun
warm this day, and don’t let the winter
come soon. For one’s bones are brittle
and they ache a little, and one’s brain
doesn’t bloom in the gloom.

I wrote the Equinox poem last year, when we actually had autumnal gloom in September. Now it's November and each day has dawned sunny, clear and cool. I'm thinking of all of you who have spoken of the fallen leaves and the gathering mist of autumn, and this poem is dedicated to you.

The photos are of the forest at Patrick's Point on the far northern reaches of California. Even in that foggy place, brilliance grew.

I've learned this autumn that one's brain can indeed bloom in the gloom, if one's heart has courage and one's eyes are open to possibilities.

When I was hospitalized, I thought I would never find my way out of the black tunnel of despair. Then I met people worse off than myself, people in deeper miseries than mine, and with them I took a look at my various troubles. I remembered something I heard in a meeting:

If we put our lives, woes and all, in a paper sack and placed it on a table beside everyone else's sacks of troubles, we would gladly claim our own sack again.


Chris Alba © 2009