I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Monday, October 5, 2020

I miss the northern autumns now

 

October 5, 1966  (I was 21)

 

I miss the northern autumns now

those aging times

requiring coats to fend off thoughts

thoughts of wintery coldness.

 

That time when crisp old cynic winds

winds grave but fresh

reveal their spirit one more time

to slap youthful faces.

 

But paradoxically a warmth

a colored warmth of red and gold

pervades the autumnal souls

of those who have understood the summer.

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