“Sleeping on a Night of Autumn Rain” (Bai Juyi)

It’s rained a little in the last few weeks, brief periods here and there. This morning I woke to the sound of rain on our metal roof. Outside, mist. When I looked out just now, I saw the arbutus tree glowing in the damp air. There’s a bear around. When the cat came in, he raced under our bed instead of pushing against my legs so I’d feed him. He knows something’s up. We have a crabapple tree that draws the bears most years. It’s old and big and we can’t get at the top branches to pick the fruit (which is usually scabby and small). I don’t mind the bears feasting on the little crabs but I wish they wouldn’t break the branches. Some years it’s been the bear with the white flash on its chest but we don’t always have the pleasure of a frontal view!

How did it get to be mid-September so soon? Wasn’t it only last week we were up early to water? To swim before the crowds? To set the table on the deck for family dinners of 6 or 8 or 10? The other night friends came for dinner and around 8:30, it was dark enough that the little lights woven into the wisteria came on (their battery is solar-powered) and I remembered sitting out with my children after the grands had been put to bed, drinking wine, talking, the lights coming on much later, but as magical as fireflies, tiny points of brightness in the green leaves. This morning John made a fire in the woodstove with dry cedar and the scent of it brings fall into being. Time to bring out the quilt basket, a book to read together in late afternoon when the light fades. This year I think we’ll try Emily Wilson’s new translation of the Iliad. We loved her Odyssey over the winter of 2019-20 and I know her fine mind and careful measures will do the Iliad justice too.

How did it get to be so late in the year? There were things I meant to do over the summer but never managed to accomplish them. I did swim to the small island in Ruby Lake, something I’ve wanted to do for ages. I did write an essay, several reviews, and I think I’ve stitched most of a book together over the past year, though I’m still wondering if the pattern is the right one. I have fabric to make into something new. For now I’m waiting and looking, hoping to learn the right things. Reading poems helps. This morning, Bai Juyi’s “Sleeping on a Night of Autumn Rain”, though its ending is a little grim:

It’s cold this night in autumn’s third month,
Peacefully within, a lone old man.
He lies down late, the lamp already gone out,
And beautifully sleeps amid the sound of rain.
The ash inside the vessel still warm from the fire,
Its fragrance increases the warmth of quilt and covers.
When dawn comes, clear and cold, he does not rise,
The red frosted leaves cover the steps.

No frost yet, the leaves are still green, but the fragrance of the fire is sweet, and the sound of rain as tender as love.