Random childhood memory fragment...

Brought to the surface thanks to a friend's question about earliest memory of winter...


I'm standing at the bus stop at 6am in the morning as a kid waiting for the school bus (late!). Bitter cold, gray morning with fog so thick it even made the traffic quieter. Camaraderie fueled by a small crackling fire started by someone's enterprising dad. I hover towards the back of our little huddle, bundled with a backpack, feeling my nose turn damp under layers of prickly woolen monkey-cap and muffler, hands thrust deep into pockets as I make little involuntary hops to keep the blood moving. Numb fingers tracing the metallic edges of the house key mum pinned to the inside of my right trouser pocket so I wouldn't lose it. I have forgotten to put my gloves on (again!).

It is that time of the year, so much has happened since the last two Octobers, I almost don't know where to start. Once again winter faces me...and again, I have Rilke for company:

Herbst (Rilke)

Die Blätter fallen, fallen wie von weit,
als welkten in den Himmeln ferne Gärten;
sie fallen mit verneinender Gebärde.
Und in den Nächten fällt die schwere Erde
aus allen Sternen in die Einsamkeit.
Wir alle fallen. Diese Hand da fällt.
Und sieh dir andre an: es ist in allen.
Und doch ist Einer, welcher dieses Fallen
unendlich sanft in seinen Händen hält.

Autumn Day
Lord: it is time. The summer was immense.
Lay your long shadows on the sundials,
and on the meadows let the winds go free.

Command the last fruits to be full;
give them just two more southern days,
urge them on to completion and chase
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Who has no house now, will never build one.
Who is alone now, will long remain so,
will stay awake, read, write long letters
and will wander restlessly up and down
the tree-lines streets, when the leaves are drifting.

English: (C) Edward Snow 1991