Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
My friends in Wyoming are posting photos of the fall scenery with the golden aspen leaves that ring the bottoms of the mountain ranges. Occasionally there will be a maple tree flashing red leaves that grab your attention like a police light. It would frequently snow as this month began, and then the snow would melt, and we’d have a few more weeks of Indian summer. I love autumn in the Rocky Mountains. I wrote this poem in my head 50 years ago while I was driving back to college after a weekend at home to help my little sisters with the milking so my dad could go elk hunting. I’ve illustrated it with photos from my friend’s cabin in those same mountains where I got the inspiration for the words.
“Ducky season starts today!” — Ducky Some people love spring. Some people love summer. Some people love winter, although they are obviously nuts. And then there are those who exult in the autumn, kicking through fallen leaves on walks in the nippy air, having hot chocolate or hot spiced cider by a fireplace. Autumn starts […]
On this drizzly October day, I’m looking back on some recent sunnier memories. Here is the view from the house I just moved out of, when the furniture was mostly sold and I was operating from an office chair and folding desk tray. With the blue sky as backdrop and prospect of getting work done, […]
I have always preferred Autumn to any other season. Summer heat does not agree with me, and I am always happy to feel the air become crisper, the clouds more defined, and even the days getting shorter. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, “fall colors” aren’t as widespread as in some other places because most trees are evergreen. But we do get some nice spots of color. Even my own backyard features a couple of Japanese Maple trees that turn a very pretty red in autumn. Ray nicknamed this one “Fluffy”:
There was no rain. There was no wind.
A sunny day’s bright, piercing sky,
And colors that refuse to blend
In trees that wear each hue and dye.
The sky scalded with skeins of crimson:
Sweet sugar maples sing of red,
The green of leaves long left behind.
And excreted over all: the oil of blood.
When I realized it was my turn for the November Group Writing Series and the theme was elimination, I started to fret a little. Elimination is a challenging word, turning it over and over in my mind. It became complicated – talk about the all consuming Mid-terms? The Caravan? Did the Founders stress out this […]
I declared the arrival of “autumn” two weeks ago. It was a Saturday morning, and instead of the damp morning heat clinging to last night’s warmth, a subtle coolness greeted me. I stopped in my tracks to soak in the softness, making sure that it was the right time for me to make it official. […]
Summer dies. The long days wane away. Preview Open
“the glory is fallen out of / the sky the last immortal / leaf / is // dead and the gold / year / a formal spasm / in the // dust / this is the passing of all shining things” … into the night so dark no night could be darker than, the cold so cold, no cold could be colder than; the journey through “The mile still left when all have reached / Their tether’s end: that mile / Where the Child lies hid.”
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overmaster it. But neither has light overmastered the darkness: lights do not shine in darkness unless darkness predominates; when there’s mostly light, we see the darkness as residual shadows, not as the ambient state.
Darkness is in one sense the enemy of God, of Christ who is Light, whose dawn at Easter irreparably shatters the dark of death and hell, the light of the eighth, eternal day, shining for all days before and after:
Scented candles. What are they for? Ask a man, and you might get varying answers – for masking the stank of indifferent housekeeping; for turning one’s home into a firetrap (bonus if careless children and pets serve as the arsonists); for frittering away money; for making grown men sneeze. Like cushions, scented candles seem an item of home decor most men could do without. Indeed, 90% of candles are purchased by women. Yet candles grace seven out of ten households and come in more than 10,000 different scents for US customers alone.
As the autumn nights draw in, even earlier now that our clocks are set back, the clever advertisers at Glade invite you into the mind of their typical female consumer, so you can see what all the scented fuss is about. “LET TEMPTATION FILL THE AIR,” Glade’s ad proclaims, as a sultry alto invites you to “Dare to let fragrance take you places you never thought you’d go…”
This morning I stepped outside at 7 am and greeted the first of Autumn. I say that because Autumn begins for me when the temperature drops just enough in Florida that I feel summer dying away and Autumn waking up. It’s only a three- to four-degree drop, but I felt the coolness on my skin […]
It has been said that as a person grows older the approach of autumn can be depressing. From green to brilliant reds, orange, and yellow the leaves go and barren trees under lead grey skies shortly follow as a reminder of our own mortality. I look forward to autumn because I’m addicted to Notre Dame football. The words of Grantland Rice best describes how I feel about the mortality of the season.
“Outlined against a blue-gray October sky, the Four Horsemen rode again. In dramatic lore they are known as Famine, Pestilence, Destruction and Death. These are only aliases. Their real names are Stuhldreher, Miller, Crowley and Layden. They formed the crest of the South Bend cyclone before which another fighting Army football team was swept over the precipice at the Polo Grounds yesterday afternoon as 55,000 spectators peered down on the bewildering panorama spread on the green plain below.”
I’ll confess that I am a Notre Doter. This glorious addiction started in third or fourth grade and I have no desire to seek a cure. One Friday afternoon as class was ending one of the nuns reminded us to pray for Notre Dame. We always were given three to four hours of homework a day and this was one assignment that was not going to be a burden.