The half-converted sugar maples stand
Awaiting orders to break into flame.
For now, they are half-glory and half-shame—
And always straining to hear the command.
October looms. The air should be cold steel
Against bare skin. Instead, it’s dense
With sweat and wool held, for now, in suspense,
As the world longs for autumn’s great repeal.
But what’s the hurry? When at last it comes,
It can’t last long. Autumn will fall, I know,
To winter, and, in falling, strip the world
Of this brightness. There’s beauty, too, in snow,
But let’s slow down. Enjoy the final curl
Of heat, before winter straightens the plumb.
Indian summer
Show Comments ()
The latest from america
Octavia Butler, the Black science fiction writer who died in 2006, did not just create imaginary worlds with parallels to ours. Sometimes she created worlds that are eerily a little too much like our own.
The U.S. bishops have been measured in their response to the new administration’s avalanche of activity, reserving sharp criticism on points of divergence while not hesitating to praise him for his actions in areas where they find alignment.
I am a woman at war within myself, in sight of two well-armed realities, my faith life suspended in the center. I think of the two sides of this spiritual DMZ as Creed and Culture.
We often hear from readers who worry about how to pass the Catholic faith on to their children. This week’s episode of Jesuitical takes this question and looks at it in reverse.