On the
hillside each bush
is a
world of its own. We drive
by
oblivious of branch and root.
But in
autumn every leaf
turns
scarlet and shouts its joy
for all
the world to see.
Maybe we
stop at the turnout,
take five
minutes from the turmoil
of our
lives, a quick photo
to
remember Icarus, his fall,
his white
legs, the green water,
then
hurry on our way.
—Donnell
Hunter
9 February 2012
You know autumn is my favorite season. So much of all of our life's seasons fuse in that bridge from summer into winter, where you and I now stand. A ship, moving quickly.might be excused to ignore those white legs and the splash, but what of that farmer, like so many of us, whose eyes are one with the mold board, turning a perfectly Euclidean line. Such a noble task but too much focus and not enough peripheral vision. Elder Eyring says when you say "hello" on Sunday morning [could it be Wed. as well?], look deeper into the heart, which just might be broken or empty. And there is so much here about how "every leaf/turns scarlet and shouts for joy." Elder Christofferson's conference line: "See, I'm smiling."I love the juxtaposition of both "hillsides" in their seasons. This is a helpful poem for those still spiritually frozen in winter, donny.
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