The Memorial Service for Alison was held on Saturday. Auntie Mame kindly offered a ride; the day began in good company and so it continued. So many old and dear faces and friends. Together we shared Steve and his sister Andrea's warm tributes to their mother, to a woman we all respected.
I have not written a poem for a very long time. Or rather, the poems I have written have tended to be reactionary in nature. I find it difficult to remain adequately detached from the chaos of guiding a teenager through the difficult final years to independence. As a result, my recent poetic scribbling has dealt more with fantasies of escape than with my own relationship with the universe.
To my great surprise a small piece recently floated to the surface. It came to me the night I received the news from Steve that Allison had gone. The candle I burned for her flickered deep into the night. I sat among the shadows, alone with my grief and memories. Like old friends, words joined me in my vigil.
In the Shadows with Alison
I watched the candle
I burned that candle
Attila took another Sunday morning siesta. He managed time off work on Sunday morning to sleep in and share with me a quiet breakfast. We are feeling absolutely decadent around here.
The sun is shining today. The yellow and red leaves are fluttering their last in the sky. The light is brilliant. Like a first sip of wine, just to gaze out a window infuses warm sensations. This is my favorite time of year, full of dazzling colors and warm sweaters.
I have a few aging Macintosh apples sitting in a box under the kitchen table and it is time to do something with them. I found a recipe for apple crisp that may or may not turn out well. The crisp is in the oven and there is a loaf of seed bread baking. The house smells good. I think a cup of tea taken on the easy chair in the sunshine will be just the thing to keep me busy until the crisp needs to be taken from the oven.
|RECIPES :: Cast
Last Blooms of Autumn
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