In response to Wednesday's post on "Autumn Days," my brother Bruce said, "All of these platitudes about the beauty of fall are designed for one end, I think: To take our minds off the fact that fall means everything is dying. Somewhere in there is a metaphor for life, but I'm too depressed to deal with it right now. First, lunch."
Bruce's observation reminded me of the following lines from one of my favorite poets, Ernest Sandeen. Yes, autumn holds the metaphor, but what chance do we have of discerning its meaning?
A fool of the late autumn night
he stumbles indoors, slamming the screen
behind him, his hair full of cold
rain, his head full of clouds
whose end and meaning
he knows he will not have time to decipher.
Ernest Sandeen (1908 - 1997)
Notre Dame Professor and Poet