Oct 2, 2015 Daily Life, Ramblings and Musings

So, after a long, long spell of dryness and crackling heat and dust, we’ve had a spell of three rainy days.

And it’s darker and darker earlier and earlier outside.

Usually, I have ambivalent feelings about autumn because of that, but I love that frisson in the air when it’s colder, and the leaves get golden and red (as they’re starting to do, finally).

This fall, I’m thinking of planting ginger and curry leaves indoors, in our downstairs bathtub-converted-into-a-grow-space-with-grow-lights-and-planting-containers.  I hasten to assure you that I didn’t convert the bathtub into a grow-space, lest you gasp at my imagined multitude of skills — it was my husband, the amazing handyman at home, who did that.  And outside, in our various beds in the front yard, I plan to plant the following fall crops:

• Beets
• Garlic
• Turnips
• Radishes
• Carrots
• Spinach
• Lettuce
• Kale
• Mustard greens
• Swiss chard
• Cabbage

We’ve grown so much this summer already — heaps and heaps of tomatoes (which are still growing, but not as lushly as half a month ago), heaps and heaps of green beans (and those are still growing), broccoli, cabbage, some not-as-prolific green peppers and eggplants, and lots of green and chillies!  We do not really want to spend grocery money on store-bought veggies, which cost more for less.  We like our food fresh from the vine or bush or plant.  It tastes like one’s own heaven on earth.  Our front yard, and garage-top container vegetable garden (also created by my beloved) is tight in terms of space, and our home is on a small, small plot of land in an semi-urban setting, but this garden does its job with pride and purpose.

I also want to plant bulbs before October goes — daffodil and tulip, crocuses, iris, narcissus.  This weather is helpful.  I neglected the fall flower-planting aspect of the garden for the past few years, and when spring came, our garden looked sad, with a few straggly tulips and daffodils here and there.  The summer was much better, and things looked prettier.  Vegetables always do well, but flowers?  They require a lot of care and thought, and I hadn’t had the time for that.  Now, I shall.

Fall is here, and it’s filled with hope: I shall plant, and I shall sing, I shall write, play music, and cook delicious food, and I shall learn to bake nice things for my family.

I thank the forces in this universe that aligned just right to make this time of freedom open its doors for me.  From having lived long enough and seen some poverty and sadness, I know that things can change rapidly, that times can be replaced with bad in the blink of an eye, and one cannot rest too easy on one’s happiness, and yet … I am happy.  If things go bad, I will remember the good times, and when things are good, I’ll focus on keeping them so, and sharing them.

Thanks for reading!
~Dreamer of Dreams

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One of my favorite poems of all time by John Keats:

Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury.  1875.

J. Keats

CCLV. Ode to Autumn

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,	5
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;	10
For Summer has o’erbrimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;	15
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;	20
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day	25
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;	30
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Tags: #Autumn, #Contentment, Beauty, fall, Family time, flower and vegetable garden, memories to store, season of mists, time of happiness, time of plenty

Oct 2, 2015 Original Poetry, Writing 101

Image by Cheri Lucas Rowlands

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Journey to the Heart of the Web
(In the Future — My Day 20 Post)
©October 1st, 2015
By Vijaya Sundaram

The future is now.  And now.  And now!
Half-way towards my Death, I lurch.
I see her lurking in the shadows.  Her breath
So cold, her eyes so gray, her face silver
Like stars stretched across space.

She is patient, so patient!  Spinning,
Spanning time, hanging beads of questions
On her web, and oh! how big those questions:
Who are you?
Where are you headed?
Why toil so much?

I am silent, thinking.
I am one among many
Unique to those I love,
And to those who love me,
Forgotten by the rest.
I have poems to write,
Songs to sing, a daughter to cherish
A husband to love, a dog to adore.
I have a garden and a novel waiting
For me to nurture them into life.
I have books to read, things to put away,
Flowers to inhale, birds to feed,
Snow to play in, a planet to explore.
This is not toil, though it is work.
And it is joy.

I say to her:
I am not ready for you.  Hang back,
Step away from me!

And her voice, cold as glass, says:
I am always waiting.  I will welcome you.

Not yet, I say, calmly, hold back.
I have plans.  I do not fear you,
But I have a life to build,
I’ll create a tower,
With storeys* made of story.
In the future, just before you entwine me in silk,
In my future, I will write,
And sing, and teach my child.
I will love my husband and child,
And take them with me on
A story-journey.  We will travel
Through my stories, and theirs,
Sing our songs, grow our minds,
Forget our fears, drop our bags,
And run through the fields.

And Death is silent.  Then, she says:
I shall be waiting.
Her voice is like a desert.

I think: My stories will come to me
From the spring of stories
That encircles the world,
And brings life to parched places,
And I want to dip my cup
In that water, and drink deep.
So, I face my future,
Setting my face against that quiet
Shadowed form, that voice
That rustles, my Death so elegant,
So ice-quiet.

But her voice, cold as glass, says,
I shall wait for you.
I am always waiting.  I will welcome you.

Yes, wait, keep waiting, I say.

I think:  In my future, I will learn better
How to tell those stories,
And sing songs, and write poems,
I will strip ego, and listen, listen
To all the people I meet,
Sans judgement, sans fear,
Sans ready response.  For, in their
Voices, stories live, and in their
Hearts, grow dreams and love.
I will see their hearts, and sing those songs.

And I turn to her, and say:
When you come, O Death,
I shall sing you my song,
And tell you my story,
And we will journey together
To the heart of your web.
And we will be as one.
But not yet, not yet,
I have plans, and
There is much to learn.

And Death pauses, sighs,
Rustles her robe, turns away.
And her voice, cold as glass, whispers:
I shall wait for you.
I am always waiting.  I will welcome you,
And you shall tell me your story.

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*In the US, the word storey is not much used.  But those from other English-speaking countries will know what I mean.

Tags: #Death, #Journey, #Learning, #Life, #Love, Family time, fear, poems, songs, stories