In my poetry class this week we were asked to write a poem.  It has to be either a sonnet, a sestina or a villanelle.  This is like a totally impossible thing for me.  I don’t write inside the box. I don’t do anything inside of any box.  I have been struggling with women’s lit and feminist theory and having to explicate poetry using specific theories just because someone says so. Having to write a poem, something that I ordinarily for pleasure as the muse inspires, with a list of rules was a daunting task.  My family of course has been more than supportive of everything that I have had to do.  My husband has been indescribable.  He simply assumes that anything that I am assigned I can not only do but do with the greatest of ease (how I wish that were true!). 

This morning I read an essay about poetry and ambition which really struck a chord.  So I took my notebook outside and cleared my mind.  I said a prayer that I would be inspired to write something and what follows is a rough draft of my sonnet.  Whoever heard of writing about soybeans, I don’t know but that is what the muse inspired me with so that’s what came forth.  The rhymes are weak but they work and the syllable counts are off, but this is my offering so far.

Soybean Sonnet

Gold bands stretch as far as the eye can see,

precious as any metal beneath the earth.

Mined not with ax as these used to be.

No, this gold is more gently laid in its berth;

drawn away to be sifted and to weigh.

Bright jewels through thieves fingers the bounty runs;

 packed and stored for an uncertain day.

Lock up the treasure of summer’s golden suns.

But this gold is not worn, not kept unseen,

this treasure is for feed, fuel and to bless.

Every year renewed that powerful bean.

Enough for all many more, no excess.

     So long as rains fall and sun does shine.

     That long will grow the golden bean benign.

Outside my window….the sun is shining and there is a light breeze blowing.  Don’t be deceived by that sunshine folks, it is a brisk fall day.  The beefers across the road are loving this weather.  They are kicking up their heels and trotting back and forth across the pasture as if they are putting on a show for me.  The trees have managed to hang onto their brilliance in spite of the winds that blew over the weekend.  Fall seems reluctant to give up and yield to the dreariness that heralds the change over into winter.

I am thinking…of cares and responsibilities.  Last night my school’s system went down and I was unable to upload my assignments.  I must remember to do that before I go ahead and start the work for the coming week.

I am thankful for…the blessings of good friends and family.  We went to a baby shower this weekend.  The young couple having the baby is the daughter and son-in-law of some friends, friends who are continually blessing everyone that they come into contact with.  It was a joy and pleasure to see a large part of our community blessing this young couple in return.  They are not going to need anything for that new baby for a very long time and that is the way that it should be.  The most wonderful part is that they were so genuinely pleased and surprised by all the generosity on their behalf.

From the kitchen…ginger ale and the BRAT diet!  The master of the house is down with the stomach bug and Kim is here sick as well.  The rest of us can just scrounge for leftovers.

I am wearing…blue capris and a white tee shirt.

I am going…to get a lot done today.  Matthew can take the car to work since I don’t need it and I will just hole up here at my desk and work on school.

I am reading…nothing yet.  My sister-in-law ReNee’ sent me Robert Barron’s Catholicism: A Journey oto the Heart of the Faith which I am itching to start.  But I am trying to be a good girl and wait until the semester is over.

I am hoping…that Doug and Kim feel better soon.  There is something so unsettling about having the stomach bug in the house.

I am hearing…MK, Melissa, and Kim chatting in the living room, Archie barking out back, and the fan running on the furnace downstairs.

Around the house…everything is cleaned up and ready for the week to start.  Both washers are going, the dishwasher is almost done with its cycle, and Layn is down for his first nap.  Sounds like a normal Monday here.

One of my favorite things…knowing that my family is safe and happy.

A few plans for the rest of the week…I need to shut out the world big time this week.  I have four research papers to set up and write.  They are due next week but since there is so much to do I need to get an early start.

Here is a picture thought that I am sharing with you…

Savannah is spending some time with her toys while mom rests and gets better.

The richness of fall

Autumn is ususally thought of as a season of death and dormancy.  With the falling of the leaves and the bringing in of the harvest there is a distinct air of completion about the whole season.  I have found however that if you look closely enough there is an unexpected richness and abundance about fall that goes beyond the bounty of the harvest.

Out in the barn life is in full swing.  Both Mary-Kate’s and Melissa’s sows farrowed last week.  The simplicity and earnestness with which the animals go about the business of life is a richness in itself.  There is no awareness of the coming of the cold in the pens where the mothers and babies live.  There is only a calm that pervades the air and a sense of purpose as the piglets nurse and the sows get down to the business of raising their young.

Even in the gardens, though they have been stripped bare of the summer’s bounty there remains the hint of newness and promise.

The hydrangeas bravely flower and hold their heads up in spite of the two or three frosts that we have experienced.  The depth of color in their foliage and the delicacy of the blooms proclaim a defiance of the coming snows.

The lawns continue to grow and shout out their lush green hurrah of the last warm weekend of the season.  It will not be overcome by frost or dismal days, the rich green spears seem to cry out.

The leaves on the trees hang on until the very end and, though the colors deepen and surrender their summer shades, the suppleness of youth is in the bright colors as well as the green.

Even my roses defy the temperatures and burst into a final glorious show before yielding to the barrenness of the winter. 

The gloominess of the day cannot dim the vibrancy of the show that God displays for my pleasure.  “Sit here and soak it in,” that bench seems to beckon. 

I wonder, does the need to soak it all in, to save the beauty and splendor, infuse the young as well as the old?