cristy picks

Thursday, October 8, 2026



TO AUTUMN

John Keats (1795-1821)

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-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
  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,
    For summer has o’er-brimm’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;
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 twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
  Steady thy laden head across a brook;
  Or by a cider-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 barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
  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;
  Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
  The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
    And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.



Thursday, November 14, 2024


Autumn's remembrance lingers like a sweet daydream. Imagine russet maple leaves framing a sunset sky and soft breezes rustling through golden gingko trees. Imagine filling your lungs with pine-scented chilly air, soaking in the view of trees and foliage in peak autumn color. That is my autumn memory from last year's November trip to one of Tokyo's parks and temples. I don't know why I am so drawn to this dark, melancholic season that preludes winter. There is just something about nature's last hurrah-a strange explosion of color before it closes shop for the season. The hibernation that follows has a beauty all of its own. As a midlife woman, I feel a special kinship to autumn more than ever. It's amazing how our physical age mirrors that of nature and we are invited to embrace change in a cyclical kind of way. Yes, midlife is autumn and I am loving it.

Just as sakura or cherry blossoms symbolize spring, the foliage of  maple (Japanese maple in particular) and gingko trees celebrate traditional autumnal beauty. The shape of maple and the gingko find their way into ceramic arts, handmade crafts, home decor and seasonal lore.

Autumn will always mesmerize us with her mystery. All we have to do is look up to that deep blue autumn sky and embrace our own kind of magic as we transition through the seasons.














 

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