The Windhover
This morning has cooler air. Last evening had colors that were no longer summer’s. School started. Some football has been played. There must be a bear considering his long sleep. I think about my saison de joie as it draws closed, and…
What next.
From May forward, I plan around the sky. My conceit: I can shape my world around its inscrutable rhythms. I study NOAA numbers and, if necessary, tea leaves. It is too big for me and for my life, but I do what I can. Weather models are my astrology.
But now? Past August, the atmosphere no longer issues my recognizance. Tonight, Capricorn will shine. Forward from September, I must arrange my world and fill my imagination: the sky won’t settle it for me.
That’s probably best. Though like an addict, I ask for just one more big flight. You know, something to get me through.
Because I feel unease having joie de vivre entirely on me. Not the bear, I can’t slumber until Virgo returns in June and my days are once again commanded.
For now, it’s on me to answer what next?
At least, that’s what flits in my thoughts after reading this playful sonnet by Gerard Manley Hopkins. It’s about joie de vivre. And flight. And autumn. And our limitations. But I repeat myself.
The Wendhover, by Gerard Manley Hopkins: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44402/the-windhover
