I am baking a pumpkin pie. Because it is very chilly out and nothing smells better than cloves and cinnamon (pace Jorge Amado…) on a chilly day. Nothing much smells better than cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg and allspice, in whatever combination. In fruitcake, gingerbread, apple pie, mulled wine, ginger cookies, winter fruit compote, Good Earth tea. In pot pourri, for heaven’s sake. It smells good, it smells like winter. And the oven warms the kitchen. The heart of the home, you know. Warm and spicy. And all that.
We’re heading out for a concert shortly: another of his gifts to me for no reason other than just because — two tickets to see the Barenaked Ladies, one of my favorite groups. Funny, poignant, touching songs. “Brian Wilson” is one of my favorite songs. So are “Life in a Nutshell,” “What a Good Boy,” “Pinch Me,” “Call and Answer,” and their new song, “Easy.” Love ’em! Can’t wait.
Exciting news: the group gathering for our Writing Salon certificate program, preparing for the two-year coursework starting Dec. 21. Very exciting — I’ve been pouring out poetry in my *spare* time, just buckets. Letting it out after all these years.
Here’s one for you:
So this is autumn, or, I see dead leaves
Down Gibbons Drive, the gingko leaves fall,
let go that last cellulose bond, the last molecule of summer,
crisp as onionskin,
patterning the ground like a silk scarf.
On the shelf in Eleanor’s room,
I saw a photo, framed,
an avenue of beeches, their golden leaves adrift.
A book I took from the library fell open to the page where,
facing a meditation about taking life one day at a time
and how all flesh is grass,
leaves dropped, were trodden into crumbs under unseen feet.
My screensaver shows black walnut trunks, a rail fence, yellow leaves.
Down by the tennis courts,
elms shudder their bounty onto the sidewalk.
The leaves make a shrift sound, a hist,
flattening under foot and tire,
a dry brown pathway, a sifting chaff,
a dust devil whirling for a moment,
then dying again.
In California, the hills are already green.
As is evident, creative juices are flowing and I think there’s no stopping them. I have no less than four books swirling in my head, with ideas and suggestions of many more. Visions and revisions. Who can complain?
Look for a review of the BNL concert in the upcoming Music Scene (December issue). Look for more poetry to be posted here. Look for my column in the Sun, eventually. Look at www.themonthly.com for occasional bon mots from my pen — this month’s “Critics’ Choice” has my review of a textiles show — a lace and embroidery exhibition in Berkeley. Another review of a quilt show to follow in January.
The gal sez check it out…
I smell pie. Yum. Happy Tuesday, the ultimate one in November 2006. And may blessings rain upon you, in raindrops (saw four rainbows yesterday!) or sundrops. Either way. Enjoy.