As Summer Ages

Someone once said art is really about the observer, and that artists watch more than participate in life. (I believe Oscar Wilde said this but I’ve never been able to find the quote again!) Whoever said it, there’s some truth to it. To write, paint, make music, etc. requires that you step back to notice and reflect. All the arts in a sense represent life—that is, the arts re-present things through words, color, sound, and the like.

Perhaps this is why I treasure times when I can sit and do nothing. I need to step out of the flow of activity and doing so I can process. It’s like getting out of the river to watch it. No one can swim forever. The creation and enjoyment of art allows us to sit on the river bank so to speak.

Below is a poem that came out of sitting and watching on a late-summer afternoon. What happens in the poem is simple, but observing it led to reflecting on seasons in a broader sense. Feel free to comment if you have any reflections of your own. This poem appears in my second book, Event Horizon.

As Summer Ages

As summer ages into autumn,
leaves on the spreading tree limbs curl 
and clasp the breeze,
which draws their shadows
past my window-shade
and to the ground.