Autumn Accelerates. Clouds streak across the sky, Pursued by geese, speeding toward Winter.
We’re also speeding toward Halloween, and the neighborhood is getting decked out with skeletons and scarecrows and, of course, pumpkins. The header photo shows our porch with some of the 32 Long Island Cheese pumpkins we harvested this year. We’ve been tossing old pumpkins over the side for a good while, but this is our first experience with this particular kind of pumpkin. The vine completely took over the bushes in front of the porch. Peace to your ♥ !
What do you do with Halloween pumpkins once they’ve served their purpose and are beginning to rot? At our house, we toss them over the front porch, where the remains can rest in peace hidden by the shrubbery. One summer we were surprised to see a lush vine growing, and it dawned on us: this was the fruit of our former jack-o-lanterns.
I don’t think our vine produced any pumpkins that time, but last year we harvested three pumpkins (and a number of small gourds, similarly birthed) thanks to our hands-free gardening approach, which we highly recommend. The header photo shows this year’s vine.
While not every poem can trace its roots to a specific incident, the one below was directly inspired by that initial vine. It was our own Cinderella story, the cast-off transformed into something beautiful. Peace to your ♥ !
Ten Months After the Ball
That October while the midnight air danced with violins, the castle clock hushed its warning, the gown of gossamer spun itself away, the mice ran home to drafty attic holes, and only the pumpkin was left by the side of the long drive.
This August the midday air shimmers with butterflies, the wardrobe brims with satin and lace, the mice dine royally on crumbs of Brie. In the castle courtyard a newborn cries, and halfway down the drive, a gardener muses over a thick, luxuriant vine.