Tag Archives: Dawn

173. I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers. ~Lucy Maud Montgomery

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Autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence
on the mind of taste and tenderness,
that season which has drawn from every poet,
worthy of being read,
some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling.
~Jane Austen

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While the summer sun reigned high in the heavens, the trailing vines of Cucurbita inched along the ground.  Its flowers were pollinated, and then its fruits began to grow.  Tendrils on the vines helped anchor the rambler and protect them from the wind.  The leaves of the vines absorbed energy from the sun to spur the growth of the fruits, and the stems worked like umbilical cords to bring nutrients to the fruits while the thin and shiny outer layer of the fruits protected them from insects and disease.  As summer wound down, the ripening gourds began turning a spectacular color of orange, at least the traditional ones.  Then after the autumnal equinox, north winds venturing out of their haunts moved southward.  Along the way they gathered a fair measure of clouds; rain from the clouds greened the landscape; days became noticeably shorter; temperatures dropped below previous three digit highs; skies regained deeper hues; dawns became chillier; and the inimitable pumpkin, having been nipped off its vine, appeared on roadside stands and in grocery stores.  How I love Octobers and the whole autumn experience; hardly a day goes by that I don’t turn my eyes upward in praise, drop to my knees in thanksgiving, and wish I could throw my arms in adoration around  the Lord of all Creation!

May the peoples praise you, O God; may all the peoples praise you.  Then the land will yield its harvest, and God, our God, will bless us.  ~Psalm 67:5-6  ✝

172. Over everything connected with autumn there lingers some golden spell–some unseen influence that penetrates the soul with its mysterious power. ~Northern Advocate

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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune they jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
~William Blake, English poet

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*Photo courtesy Mike Bizeau

Lusty indeed is the dance of the year’s 4th child!  Escalating as she goes, she regales herself in glorious colors, and whilst strutting her hour upon earth’s stage, she reigns in majesty.  As she prepares the land for its Sabbath, her chariot enters the eastern sky at dawn with pink and purple banners flying high or she comes veiled in gray from a fog or torrents of rain.  Then after day is done she exits on the western horizon in mellow twilight, or in a blaze of red and gold, or swallowed up in the wetness of massive clouds.  When not thundering “mournful melodies” for all to hear, she’s belting out songs of joyfulness until she perishes in deep December softly playing “the harps of leafless trees.”

There is pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is rapture in the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar;
I love not man less, but Nature more,
~Lord Byron, English poet

It wasn’t until Mike Bizeau posted this photo of fall-colored succulents along a beach north of Mendocino, California, that I realized lusty autumn not only sings in forests and gardens but also in places on the “lonely shore.”  What a splendid artist is the holy Yahweh!

Sing to Him, sing praise to Him; tell all of His wonderful acts.  ~1 Chronicles 16:9  ✝

169. Everything is mended by the soil. ~Andrew Crofts

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The best things in life are nearest:
Breath in your nostrils,
light in your eyes,
flowers at your feet, duties at your hand,
the path of light just before you.
Then do not grasp at the stars, but do life’s plain,
common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and
daily bread are the sweetest things in life.
~Robert Louis Stevenson

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What a picture perfect day it has been!  After several very coolish, gray days, the sun regained control of the eastern horizon at dawn today, and it has remained the sole ruler of a deeply blue, autumnal sky the rest of the day.  The temperature has been in the 60’s and 70‘s making it this gardener’s idea of a perfect day.  The “breath in my nostrils” has been scented with attar of roses, the “light in my eyes” has brought me wondrous sights, the “flowers at my feet” have fed my hungry soul, the “duties at hand” have energized my aging body, and the “path of light” before me has once again led to God’s amazing throne of Grace.  It just doesn’t get any better than that, at least in my book.

May the light of your soul guide you.
May the light of your soul bless the work that you do
with the secret love and warmth of your heart.
May you see in what you do the beauty of your own soul
.May the sacredness of your work bring healing, light,
and renewal to those who work with you
and to those who see and receive your work.
May your work never weary you.
May it release within you wellsprings of
refreshment, inspiration, and excitement.
May you be present in what you do.
May you never become lost in bland absences.
May the day never burden.
May dawn find you awake and alert,
approaching your new day with
dreams, possibilities, and promises.
May evening find you gracious and fulfilled.
May you go into the night blessed,
sheltered, and protected.
May your soul calm, console, and renew you.
~Author unknown

From the fruit of his lips a man is filled with good things as surely as the work of his hands rewards him.  ~Proverbs 12:14   ✝

164. Is not this a true autumn day? Just the still melancholy that I love — that makes life and nature harmonize. ~George Eliot

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Delicious autumn!
My very soul is wedded to it,
and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth
seeking the successive autumns.
~George Eliot

**I was hoping you could see that the morning glory below, heavy with dew after the rain, was an awesome, pink delight to behold, but the image is too smalll here for you to see its alluring sparkle.

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Northerly winds in the night blew our gray, rain-bearing clouds away, and the day dawned under a fresh, China blue sky.  Layers of dust that had been blowing in on southerly winds for weeks were washed away, sent back to the soil from whence they came.  As a result heaven’s dome along with the landscape looked sparkling clean and pristine.  In the day’s early light growing green things shined greener, new growth pushed up on rose canes, seedlings appeared in soil once parched and cracked by summer’s fiendish assaults.   Wildlife, though always smaller in number in October, flew, crawled, and buzzed with renewed energy and enthusiasm in the aftermath of the recent slow, soaking rains.  And so with a bit of an almost frosty nip in the air, this day evolved into our first quintessential, autumn day.  How, then, on such a day, could the early call to venture out in the yard, camera in hand, have been ignored?  Or how could it have been a surprise that the vignettes I found were so exquisite that all I could muster, with eyes blurred by joyful tears, was praise for the Holy One whose presence amidst the glory was sweetly palpable?

Let them give thanks to the Lord for His unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind.  Let them sacrifice thank offerings and tell of his works with songs of joy.  ~Psalm 107:21-22  ✝

138. My riches consist not in the extent of my possessions, but in the fewness of my wants. ~J. Brotherton, a reforming British politician and non-conformist minister

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May the God of your days and the dawn awaken you.
May the God of the rising sun stir you up.
May the God of the morning bless the work of your hands.
May the God of noontime renew your strength and energy.
May the God of the sunset bring you safely back home.
May the God of the dusk soothe your flesh and soul.
May the God of the night bring you peaceful rest.

~Edited adaptation of a blessing for the day by Andrew Greeley

Blessed are those You choose and bring near to live in Your courts!  We are filled with the good things of Your house, of Your holy temple.  ~Psalm 65:4 ✝

133. My little hut is newly thatched, I see, with blue morning glories. ~Kobayashi Issa

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A morning glory at my window
satisfies me more
than the metaphysics of books.
~Walt Whitman

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I love the tendrils vines use to climb as well as the vertical interest the vines themselves add in a garden.  Scrambling upwards enables the twining plants to reach sunlight with a minimum investment of energy rather than investing their energy in a lot of supportive tissue, and many of them can be easily started from seed or even better some easily reseed themselves from year to year.  Vines are not fussy plants that require special care, and as long as they are watered regularly, some of them even thrive through the hottest parts of summer growing strong in the garden’s web of life until the first freeze finishes them off.  For me one of the best reasons for adding vines in a garden is that some of them are hummingbird magnets.

The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.  ~Psalm 65:8  ✝

8. the sky has broken and the earth sea-washed is all diamond ~Kenneth White

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Grace comes into the soul, as the morning sun into the world;
first a dawning, then a light,
and at last the sun in his full and excellent brightness.
~Thomas Adams

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There is a sort of pregnant pause at the exact moment light splits the darkness.  It’s a brief moment in which all creation seems to bow in a great and reverent silence.  It’s as if all those who witness the light’s return praise the Holy Feet on which it comes.  From my window I see this gladsome response as birds lift up and take to wing and as the squirrels leap high in the trees before the deliberate busyness of their respective days begin.  Could it be then that our first response should be to celebrate the gift of the new day and thank its Holy Giver before ere we begin anew.  It was certainly so with the Celts who believed creation was not simply just a gift, but also “a self-giving of God whose image was to be found deep within all living things.”  Why then isn’t that the order of the day in our world?  Perhaps it’s because modern man lives so far away from the natural world that he feels little to no reverence for Creation and therefore has become alienated from God’s living presence.  J. Philip Newell put it this way, “divorced from the brilliance of the first day man lives in a type of exile from his true self and what is deepest in creation.”  He explains further that in this exile, he chooses to ignore the yearning for the light that stirs within himself and chooses instead to follow life’s superficial distractions.

But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds of the air, and they will tell you. . .  ~Job 12:7   ✝

3. Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting and autumn a mosaic of them all. ~Stanley Horowitz

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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain’d
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may’st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
~William Blake, English poet

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Lusty indeed is the dance of the year’s 4th child; regaled in glory and reigning in majesty, she’s a darling of the gardener.  Because fruitfulness and love run through her “thrilling veins,” those who choose to work the soil know they’ve got one last chance now before year’s end to plant, “to interact with nature, to share, to find sanctuary, to heal, to honor the earth, to leave a mark.”  So it is when autumn’s chariots, with pink and purple banners flying or veiled in a gray fog or torrents of rain, enter the eastern sky at dawn, the gardener’s heart is electrified.  Then when her crisp days are done and her carriage exits on the western horizon in a blaze of red and gold or is swallowed in the wetness of massive dark clouds, the gardener is left with the satisfied feeling that he’s conjured up or added yet another stroke or two to his beloved work of art.   As for what Blake called her “jolly voice,” autumn often sings gladsome odes to joy, but there are days when it belts out threatening, thunderous refrains or croons “mournful melodies.”  Regardless of what autumn vocalizes, it’s not until it plays “the harps of leafless trees” and sings the somber song of deep December that both the garden and gardener rest knowing that it’s time to let the Lord and Creation alone perform their miracles, God from on high and the earth from beneath the soil.

A common feast has been prepared at Creation’s hearty tables.  Food for the soul, spirit, and mind has been prepared and offered up for all of us.  So, come, dine with me there in the coming weeks.