The Oak

The oak by the creek at the bottom of the meadow, the big one in the center of the valley, is still in leaf.  The once green, now gold, nimbus of it casts a large and luxuriant shadow over the last of the green summer grasses.  I lay in this grass yesterday looking for...anything really but most especially a fish.  A blue heron fishes this part of the creek and I'm sure he would not be here , however lovely the oak, without the promise of a small trout.

The season is holding me to the valley, I cannot leave this perfection. One day perfectly yellow, the next russet, then back to shimmery yellow. We're waiting for red.  The oaks are not finished.  And there are ash trees still holding on to green.

Consider, if you will, the egalitarian nature of fall. The perfect democracy of it. Every year, one for everyone.  One for each, one for all. The experience cannot be denied.  Our human-made democracy seems not so elegant in comparison.  The oak helps me want to be kind and not readily use words like lumbering, clumsy or crude to describe our human-made world.  The world of currency, government and schools.

How stubborn we are, how determined to cling to our systems however well or not they may serve us. Ah well, the oak still stands and the perfect circling shadow of it promises yet another fall afternoon sprawled in the long grasses. Maybe I'll see a fish. And like the heron, the very smallest trout will do.