Bridget Puzon, O.S.U.

The poet called it the time of “mellow fruitfulness.” Everything seems quieter and invites reflection.

After the Autumnal Equinox, the sun very noticeably comes up later. (I know, the reality is that the earth turns.) The sunrise show from our kitchen window that moved across the room, blinding us, now has only hints, shadows, to nudge us awake. It is autumn in New York.

At the same time, the local squirrels have begun the forage for winter, no longer just playing but gathering and burying their finds. Their funny ways now have a seriousness of purpose in their twitchy scurrying.

No longer the chorus of bird song in the early morning. In fact, we no longer hear music from the trees. And the trees start their colorful display before they go to their season of shedding.

October holds the feast of St. Francis of Assisi early in the month, drawing us into our own songs of creation. In his prayer to the world that houses us, he made the workings of nature become a song of wonder and joy to the Creator.

While we return to the seriousness of work or school, whether we are confined by illness or physical limitations, this show goes on, inviting our own songs of wonder and joy. As the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins reminds us:

“The earth is charged with the grandeur of God.”