"She refused to be bored, chiefly because she wasn't boring." Zelda Fitzgerald

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Words On The Platter

     Sometimes, in order to get going again we have to push the ball down the hill in some small way. I have been long fallow here and now I'm back and grinding away like Sisyphus but in an attempt to help things take on their own momentum and joy, I'm just going light. This is my little kick off the edge.....here I am, with my pen in my hand again.

Lets just marinate in some goods words, shall we? It seems like a good way to begin. Here are some of my own, personal favorites. Which ones did I miss that you love the sound or feel of?

Utterly Enjoyable Autumn Words

Decidious
Scythe
Persimmon
Harvest
Cornucopia
Shadow
Cider
Sheaves
Snuggle
Golden
Quilt
September
Russet
Blaze
Fog
Rusted
Flannel
Crimson
Chanterelle
Meander
Crackling
Maple
Smoke
Squash
Harvest
Spider
Candle
Crisp
Aspen
Marigold
Hazel
Scarlet
 
And then, just because delicious words make me think of poetry, in a When You Give A Moose A Muffin Style....lets have a classic poem by James Whitcomb Riley. I like to imagine my farming great-grandpa, suddenly possessed of a desire to write poems speaking out these lines while he stumps along from orchard to barnyard to his masonry trimmed farmhouse where I was this summer. I miss him and I wish he could know my little boys and that I could marinade in his comforting presence and imagine they will turn out sturdy and reliable and warm, like him.

When the Frost is on the Punkin

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees.... (click here for the rest) 
 

1 comment:

  1. Grandpa Louie used to quote that poem! I love it so much. Thanks for all the reminders of autumn joys. Wish you and Aaron could come for a visit while the frost is on the punkins! XOXO

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