The Poetry of Earth

IMG_2636“The  poetry of earth is never dead….The poetry of earth is ceasing never.” —John Keats

I suppose the poetry of Earth thrums in all places, from the Pacific islands, where it is never cold, to Antarctica, where it is never hot.  But it seems to me this poetry is especially strong in New England, where there are four seasons, each with a definite chapter. I have lived in Maine for so long that I can visualize each chapter and remember the smells, the heat, the cold, the sounds, and the silence.

For a gardener, fall’s chapter is always a little sad. The flowers and the hostas are way past their peak and must be cut back. But as Johanna, from the blog Mrs. Walker’s Art and Illustrations, recently reminded me, “And indeed better look at the glorious colors of fall and give the plants their deserved sleep whilst enjoying the harvest! Nothing melancholy about that!”

Johanna is right—those glorious colors; the golden light that shines even on an overcast day; and the harvest—the squash, the apples, the pears, the potatoes. There is indeed nothing melancholy in all this. In fact, the crops in Maine have been so bountiful this season that we can rejoice to have such plenty while keeping in mind that other parts of the country are suffering from drought. Nationally, canned pumpkin might be in peril, but fresh Maine pumpkins are not.

Duly reminded of the glories of autumn, I decided to see if I could scrape together a bouquet for the dining room table. In the gardens at the little house in the big woods, there isn’t much left to choose from. But here again, another blogging friend came to the rescue—this time Eliza, from her blog Eliza Waters. She puts together the loveliest arrangements and uses material, much of it dried this time of year, that I had never considered for an indoor bouquet.

So out I went with my scissors. I snipped some sedum, which is still a vibrant pink. That was the easy part. To the sedum I added dried, curling ferns, the stalks of astilbe, and the seed heads from black-eyed Susans.

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While the results would never win a prize in a competition, I was pleased nonetheless with how the bouquet turned out. I had used what my gardens had to offer to bring a bit of fall inside.

It would certainly be a stretch to call the arrangement poetry, but with the help of a couple of my blogging friends, I have listened to fall’s poetry.

 

 

 

 

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