A neighbor lady
despairs of this season —
with the falling of leaves
everything is down,
despondency sets in,
death and decay.
"Days grow shorter; faces grow longer,"
she says.
A pity she doesn't know
the great Mass lifting up —
everyday —
through Christ,
with him and
in him,
and all the autumn sacramental elevations,
venues to the divine:
tree tops
coned and acorn clustered,
dawn and dusked-hued autumn —
with fewer clouds
a bluer sky
more pure,
vast,
open and wide,
whirring-winged,
resonant,
V-formed geese,
elevated phasing moon,
constellated night time of
flowers and animals,
clusters, cups and chains,
spirals, spindles and wheels
bright, reliable Venus.
Bow your heads and pray God's blessing.
Nay! —
"Lift up your heads and see God's blessing!"
