not enough frenzy

Thunderclap and lightning vow; the final bow of the faded glory season; sings its silent leaf falling song; fills up the still water with reflections of leaves gone by; now gathering like apples bobbing, gathering in clumps; entropy and wishbone cloud formations; fumbling together like friends at the top of the water; like a rainbow of lily pads leaning towards the russet hues; and here the hollows – The ghosts are nothing more than laughs on the ripples; we sit watching the season grasp towards the light; we cackle towards the horror; the perversion of what is so obviously benign and beautiful; the forest displayed in hungry colors; not a death march, but a celebration of release / This cacophony of creation at its final interpretation; nothing scary about it , this world of branches and brambles and the way fog floats through the forest under the October moon ; nothing scary about it , the way we hold our hearts like half-remembered song lines; drilled out of the earth; like so many pipelines fracking for something real; for the freedom to pipe our fresh songlines back into our lungs ; so many ancestors forgotten ; like so many traditions pushed down the river in a basket , dumping out to the polluted Hudson , fumbling towards the endless plastics of the ocean / bones rattle in the branches ; old ancestor disappointment – at how we forget everything, fear everything, pervade our corrosion of disconnection into a paradigm of gore and gush;

This family of ducks weaves their way between the new terrain; the freshly assembled families of leaves in their water; as more fall around them gently, gently, gracefully, gracefully

I will never stop being disappointed in our society; in how we peel away from the precious; how we skitter away from the sacred; and coerce every sleeping promise of connection towards the hacked up reverie of some feverish frenzy towards the frantic ferocity of fear;; too much fear, not enough frenzy

Halloween. And tumult and trauma and upheaval. Again. And the cycles, the seasons, the endless age of the earth age-ing backward. And laughter and holding my baby tight. But fear everywhere. Fear in the child, fear in me, fear of the future and the steps to be taken. Fear of the words and the truth in between. Where do we go, where do we go from here? Where do all of us go? The battered, the flinching, the scared of the darkness and the light? Where do all the children go that don’t have advocates? That don’t have people speaking for them, protecting them? What happens to all the children’s whose voices are only theirs against an adult’s? I am worried and weary and without a map, but I have my boy, and I have my bravery and I have the light on my side. And I have the light in my heart still flaming. Halloween and let the shadows come. Let the darkness come, let the haunting scare us. We have light enough to kindle. We have light enough to see our way through. Small and only enough to see one foot in front of the other, but we have enough. We have each other.