An Ode to Fall
The leaves are turning, and there’s a nip in the air. With the arrival of fall comes the feeling of change: a gradual transition into winter and the close of another year.
Shorter days and longer nights, for us, means time for introspection and rest in between social markers of the season. Yet, like for many a poet, artist and photographer, it also brings bursts of new creative energy. In keeping, Moontide, our second collection, is a tribute to cycles that originate after dusk (we even made a playlist for dancing in the moonlight!)
Here’s to the season – we hope you find resonance with the words and images below:
Photo by Nirvair Singh Rai
Snow would be the easy
way out—that softening
sky like a sigh of relief
at finally being allowed
to yield. No dice.
We stack twigs for burning
in glistening patches
but the rain won’t give.
So we wait, breeding
mood, making music
of decline. We sit down
in the smell of the past
and rise in a light
that is already leaving.
We ache in secret,
a gloomy line
or two of German.
When spring comes
we promise to act
the fool. Pour,
rain! Sail, wind,
with your cargo of zithers!
–November For Beginners by Rita Dove
Photo by Samee Taskin
I have eaten
that were in
you were probably
they were delicious
and so cold
-This Is Just To Say by William Carlos Williams
Photo by Yuko Yamaguchi
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away;
Lengthen day and shorten day;
Every leaf speaks bliss to me
Fluttering from the autumn tree.
I shall smile when wreaths of snow
Blossom where the rose should grow;
I shall sing when night’s decay
Ushers in a drearier day.
-Fall, leaves, fall by Emily Brontë
Photo by Prarthna Singh
One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand cafe in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups.
One not necessarily very beautiful
man or woman who loves you.
One fine day.
-Recipe for Happiness by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Photo by Janhavi Sharma
On a leafless branch
A crow comes to rest –
-haiku by Basho
Photo by Ashish Shah
I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small kingdoms
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better.
-Sleeping in the Forest by Mary Oliver
Photo by Simona Bonnano
a pair of circling nightjars
feed on stars
-haiku by Rajiv Lather
Feature image by Rema Chaudhary