Inspired by Kahlil Gibran's poem "The Scarecrow," my adult writing students and I recently wrote about conversations with fall things -- a crabapple, an oak leaf, a pumpkin, a sheath of hay, and a scarecrow -- each of which take on their own personality.
Here are some of the writings by Nathalie Le Breton, Susan Donnelly, Lindy Low Le Coq and Ron Smith. Enjoy!
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Fall Musings by Nathalie Le Breton
Once I said to an oak leaf “Did you fall too early?”
She did not respond.
She looked up for a bit at her sisters still perched on dark branches. And then she went rolling, alone, in the wind.
At times she had a few companions. Among them were flamboyant maple leaves, shriveled rose hips, and the crows, always the crows. But mostly she rolled alone in the wind.
Because she never responded, I often wondered if indeed she had fallen too early. But then I thought that some of us do need to fall early, and alone.
Don’t cry. It is not a lonely thing. Actually it is not lonely at all. Remember the maple leaves and the rosehips? And yes the crows! There’re always the crows… They might be odd companions, but while you roll alone they tell it as it is:
“Keep going!”
“Get out of here!”
“What are you looking at?”
“I told you so…”
So you see, the rolling is not so lonely even if you have fallen, maybe, a bit too early.
And sure, I wondered what happened to the oak leaf. Often I even wonder what will happen to me!
Maybe it is now time to imagine the rest of the story, you know, after the falling, after the rolling alone in the wind. She must have felt the rain, and the soft burning, and the rain again. She must have cried. She must have smiled. She must have lived beyond what I could see, beyond what I can even imagine. She must have lived beyond the fall.
About the author: Nathalie Le Breton is a French native speaker who has relocated in the Pacific Northwest. She enjoys exploring a different language as a form of personal discovery and melodic expression. She also enjoys reading poetry and children's books, knitting, drinking tea, and walking slowly through the seasons.
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Walking the Neighborhood in Fall by Susan Donnelly
Once I said to a porch pumpkin, “How does it feel to wait on this cold concrete step for someone to give you a face?”
The mouthless pumpkin replied, “I am only doing what we all do – waiting for others to shape our expressions.”
I glanced at the afternoon sky then back at his unetched
skin and probed further, “But does it hurt to be carved, to feel the sharp
edge, wielded in the hands of another, stab into your heart?”
I chose not to and went on down the shaded sidewalk pretending I preferred Autumn’s bright red maple leaves to dull orange pumpkins anyway.
Weeks passed; the days grew shorter and the nights colder. Rain pelted from dark skies.
One foggy morning, I walked past the same porch. The same pumpkin sat on the same damp step,
mold kissing his raggedly carved buck teeth. His triangle eye sockets had shrunk in on
themselves, and all of his orifices oozed a sickly orange goo.
I approached cautiously and in a whisper asked, “How does dying feel?”
He responded, “You already know.”
About the author: Susan Donnelly, a retired middle-school teacher, walker, and dog lover, is a Portland poet who has studied with Linda Ferguson for a number of years.
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The Kind Crabapple by Lindy Low LeCoq
Photo courtesy of Lindy Low LeCoq |
About the author: Ron Smith has been playing drums and been in bands for as long as he can remember. His attempts at songwriting led to prose. He loves reading fiction, history and biography and specializes in writing short fiction. His favorite book is Thomas Mann's Buddenbrooks. He shares a Woodstock cottage with numerous musical instruments and hundreds of books, vinyl records, and CDs.
A Chafing Chat by Susan Donnelly
Once I said to a scarecrow, “Straw is so prickly, do you itch all of the time?”
The stuffed figure tilted his oversized head – perhaps to ease some discomfort or perhaps to see my face better, and replied, “Yes, of course; we all do, just for different reasons.”
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