Autumn Arrives Bringing Reflection

by Jane Stahl

The days grow shorter; the slant of sun announces the arrival of autumn--prelude to the darker days approaching winter's solstice. Nature treats us to a glorious display of color and offers a perspective that many need, "The trees are about to show us how lovely it is to let things go." 

My own trees remind me. The maples provide a rosy glow to life in their annual shedding. Beyond my yard the glow is golden. 

"Letting go" of what no longer serves us--possessions, relationships, attitudes, perspectives--opens us to new possibilities, frees us from "ties that bind," and gifts us with an uncommon peace found in the acceptance of "what is."

And yet, the melancholic air accompanying these changes can bring a kind of beauty in the remembrance of the way things were, beauty forever gone and forever missed. Author and educator Phil Repko's poem "Irredeemable" captures the longing before the "letting go."  

                              Irredeemable Past

   The pain of longing--pining for days when strength
and autonomy were too certain to even be recognized--
         clutches at my throat and overwhelms my torsos.
                 The chest echoes so hollow that deep,
                            exquisite pain reverberates. 

           Recollection of those days, when truly nothing
         had a chance against our strength and stamina,
             vibrates with a confident hum that commands
      the very room and stops the trickle of melancholy
                                       I remember now.

                  The pain and longing are far too rich.
        In a second, the searing warmth, then the casual
                 agony of distance and loss metastasizes,
                       spreading into fingers, toes, and well
                         into the furthest reaches of despair. 

              My word, I can feel the sadness of space
        when first it came, so many hills and valleys ago. 
           "When I was a boy" is the starkest slap my cheek
                     has ever weathered, yet the sting is not
                  upon my face. Instead, it doubles me over. 

             The days that were? They can't come back. 
          The love I felt before I knew what love could be?
          Great God! The very hint of such a love was pain
                 so everlasting only youth could withstand
                     the full and headlong rush to feeling. 

                     I remember. I remember. I remember. 

             I was young. And strong. And I wanted so much
          to make a friend. To have a girl think I was worthy
                     of kissing, and of touch. Of quiet, silent 
                afternoons in rooms that made no sounds,
                             and doors that could not close. 

                             I know those rooms still reside
                                               in the halls
                                             of consciousness.
                            But they have passed me by. 
                            They so have passed me by. 

Phil's latest book of poetry "Homestretch" and his first book "Pieces of April" explore hosts of feelings --of family, remembrance, the journey of aging. Both can be found on Amazon. 

Berks County Television (BCTV) hosted two interviews with Phil in recent months in which he shares a few of his poems, the "stories" behind them, his motivation for writing, and his writing process. The interviews can be found here: Phil Repko BCTV and  Phil Repko Homestretch (Interviews follow ads; that's just how YouTube works.)

Autumn is rich in its beauty and in its tug at the soul to remember the glory of living--past and present--to take the time to rest, and to anticipate the return--refreshed, rejuvenated--when winter turns to spring. 

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