Autumn has arrived and with it brisk air and a lot of rain. We've turned on our heating for the first time since last winter. October is only a few days old, but already September is a distant memory. Yet memories have a purpose, as our friend
Karen from Tennessee reminds us with this poem by Burley Carley she sent along the other day:
September Meditation
By Burton D. Carley
I do not know if the seasons remember their history or if the days and
nights by which we count time remember their own passing.
I do not know if the oak tree remembers its planting or if the pine
remembers its slow climb toward sun and stars.
I do not know if the squirrel remembers last fall's gathering or if the
bluejay remembers the meaning of snow.
I do not know if the air remembers September or if the night remembers
the moon.
I do not know if the earth remembers the flowers from last spring or if
the evergreen remembers that it shall stay so.
Perhaps that is the reason for our births -- to be the memory for
creation.
Perhaps salvation is something very different than anyone ever expected.
Perhaps this will be the only question we will have to answer:
"What can you tell me about September?"
