Northwest Autumn

It is three weeks until Autumn Equinox 2022. I first wrote and published this piece in 2008, significantly revised it in 2018, sharing it again on dVerse in response to a wonderful prompt by Amaya Engleking. I now have further refined it in small ways, and choose to share it again here in 2022. Much has changed in the 14 years since I first wrote this, but not my love for the Pacific Northwest, and most especially — Oregon. It is in the light of this abiding love, that I now share this piece once more here on dVerse, for OLN, September 1st, 2022. Peace!

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Autumn is upon us, as we enter our season of nature’s rest and replenishment here in the Pacific Northwest. The cycle of renewal will begin in western Oregon, where I lived for 25 years. I moved in 2015 to Seattle to be near my young grandson. Still immersed in Pacific Northwest beauty here, but Oregon will always hold my heart.

The summer’s dry period has ended, and agricultural irrigation has ceased. Harvesting explodes in October into November, including the grape harvest in our many vineyards. Following the gathering of this autumn bounty, the soil is left to recover. The fruit and nut trees, the vines in the vineyards, and the crop fields will begin the slow period of winter revitalization, in anticipation of the growing seasons to come in the new year. The Great Mandala of life turns steady. The rains that begin sporadically in late October, increasing into November, will work their magic — plumping Oregon’s world-class Christmas tree and holly crops, renewing the sparkle of these holiday icons, readying them for harvest.

Wild nature will also enter a period of recovery and renewal. The flowering plants that have dropped their petals, and the grasses and brush, gone late-summer golden, seek these nurturing rains. Mighty evergreens pause, conifers drop their cones, and deciduous trees shed their leaves all go dormant, and rest. The vast Northwest forests are enriched by this period of rejuvenation.

Streams, whose water levels have dropped considerably, will come to new life when rains begin to replenish their flow. Sockeye and Chinook salmon start their run upstream to begin their spawn. Rainbow, Brook, German Brown, and Cutthroat Trout, as well as numerous other species become active as waters rise and cool. Bear, deer, cougar, elk, coyote, big horn sheep, pronghorn antelope, hawk, osprey, eagle; the varied and plentiful wildlife of our region begin preparation for their unique winter rituals.

Autumn nudges into winter, a peaceful time of rest and restoration here in this breathtakingly beautiful region. A regenerative calm lies upon the lush land, as the season of sky-water arrives to quench nature’s thirst, and revivify her energies in this utopia.

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Just as the gardener
nurtures her tend
bending close
to nourish
and protect

so too nature stoops
to embrace
and refresh
her pacific northwest paradise

her autumn shadow upon the land
she leans down
and lets flow life-giving waters
to enrich this lush realm

she covers her beloved eden
in a soft blanket
of moist cloud

a shelter from chilled winter
to insure a rich bounty
when spring returns

abundant fruits
vegetables
and nuts

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hill-climbing vineyards

towering trees
too numerous to imagine

endless grasses
bushes
berries
and flowers

all will be spring succulent
from buildiing winter waters

mountain streams
valley rivers
swell with migrating fish

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as they journey home
up these fresh waters
of new birth

birds and animals
flock and gather
embraced by this season
of quiet replenish

in balanced step
and close harmony
with this cycle
they too
will welcome next spring
with plentiful new life

a sustaining love
this affair

life
nurtured to flourish
in the eventual spring

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*

published: rob kistner © 2008
revised: rob kistner © 2018
final revision: rob kistner © 2022

* More poetry at: dVerse

photos (top to bottom):

  • Autumn at Multnomah Falls, Oregon
  • Oregon Autumn rain on conifer needles
  • Autumn at Sokol Blosser Vineyards, Willamette Valley Oregon
  • Sockeye salmon, Deschutes River, Oregon
  • Autumn Cascade Mountain Lake, Oregon
  • The Taste

    This type of poem is known as a haibun, and combines prose with haiku. It is offered in response to the September 20th prompt at Big Tent Poetry.

    The Taste

    •

    It was an embrace I’d wished had been endless, at our tearful farewell – your body supple and warm, pulsing with life.

    lips lush as cognac
    open softly to kisses
    urgently linger

    I passed through security, turned and fixed on your gaze – prayed it was not the last time I’d look into your eyes. I wandered dazed down the ramp, to the jet that would take me to the fury of hell. I locked your face of love deep in my heart.

    That cherished image proved my grasp on sanity through two years of horror – through the sting of separation, the bitter taste of war, the foul stench of death.

    I return this day, facing reality at 30,000 feet, the salt of sadness on my lips. I am ashamed, frightened to see and touch you again, but I burn to do so.

    so different now
    my hands angry with bloodshed
    innocence is lost

    I fear a kiss from my killer’s mouth, will forever defile your precious lips – lush as sweet cognac, that day we parted.

    • • •

    rob kistner © 2010

    NOTE: this piece is by no means a condemnation of the men and women who are sent into the teeth of hell to fight, suffer, and sometimes die. Rather, it is an expression of my deep respect for what they endure, and a quiet tear for what is so often sadly lost in so doing.

    Message in a Bottle

    In the spirit of the 1st prompt on the newly re-opened Writer’s Island, I retrieved this message from my imaginary bottle, unrolled, then read it — this is what it said:

    ___________________________

    Seamen brave and strong as we

    There’s a truth that we all learn

    When brave and strong men go to sea

    Tis not certain they’ll return
    ___________________________

    October 23rd, 1997

    This may be the last few hours of my life. I feel compelled to take this paper and pen and chronicle my end – to feel I did not die in vain… in faith that someone may find this.

    I penned the brief sea chant you see at the top, because it continues to turn over and over in my head.

    I have no radio or communications devices. They were all destroyed. I have no way of getting a message out — save this crude method.

    How I hope that someone will find this. The address of my family and their phone number is on the back. Please, whoever may discover this – see that it gets to my family. Thank you so very much!

    I’m the only one left. Carey was killed in the crash, and Gill succumbed to his mortal wounds last night. I rolled his body into the ocean to satisfy the sharks, and keep them at bay for a bit longer.

    They’ve circled through the night — it’s the third night they returned. They get bolder each time – the largest has lost all fear. He’s bumped me several times in the last couple of hours. He’s taunting, he knows I’m nearing my end.

    When the attack comes, and come it will very soon — it will be vicious and final. I’m certain I will not survive it, but I’m reasonably confident it will be over quickly. At least three of the most aggressive circling are great whites – large enough to finish a man in a few quick rips.

    I’m so very weary; I almost wish it would just happen. The uncertainty of waiting is getting to be too much… I’m exhausted… I’m ready.

    This was to be our last run up from Cuba. So many uneventful trips… I think we grew careless. We’d broken out a couple bottles of the contraband Varadero and lit up a couple of the Cohibas to celebrate this last trip. I never ceased to be amazed how much money we were making smuggling in illegal Cuban Rum and Cigars… just unbelievable.

    We were literally flying over the wave tops in our custom 32′ Donzi race-hull speeder. We weren’t full open, but we were doing 70 knots on the calm seas — the 1,000 horses purrin’ like a kitten.

    We were too caught up in the booze and stogies to notice the sleeper cross-wave until it caught us sideways at mid-hull and snapped this cigarette boat like a twig – it just exploded out from under us.

    One minute I am in a speeding boat with my two best friends skimmin’ the waves – the next minute we’re in the water, with just a piece of the aft hull in tact. The rest was splintered flotsam and jetsam. Our cargo, what wasn’t destroyed, or on the bottom of the deep blue — floated and bobbed in their wooden cases like square corks.

    Carey was dead, Gill critically wounded, and I – just dazed. I dragged Gill and I up onto the small fragment of the Donzi that was still afloat, where Gill eventually died. Carey had floated away. The sharks found him in less than an hour. They finished him in a turbulent frenzy.

    Before the end comes I want to say my farewells to my family. Ironically, I’m going to seal this message in one of the Varadero Rum bottles. It was smuggling this shit that got Carey and Gill killed – and soon I as well.

    Kathy, my sweet wife, you’ve been the love of my life – patient, understanding… you make me so happy, though I don’t show it all the time. I get caught up in the fog of life’s distractions — buried in my pride and insecurity.

    But alone out here, under the warm Atlantic sun, a calm has settled over me. I’m filled with peace, and a joy that is my love for you! I see with great clarity how much you mean to me as my wife. My emotions are overwhelming me. I see how remarkable our relationship is.

    So, my love, when I’m gone, please see these words as a place you can visit and be nurtured. A private, wonderful place you can go, to know these treasures that have always been in my heart. I will be there – close your eyes and you will feel me there, and my love.

    And my darling daughter Jennifer — after all these years, you have never lost your magic. Like a brilliant sorceress, with one word, you can cast your spell, and put me in a wonderful dream. Your magic word is, “Daddy!” You say this as you smile deeply into my eyes — “Daddy!” I melt.

    I will always be your daddy and you will forever be my little girl, my firstborn, my beautiful daughter! Thinking of you here, now, tears fill my eyes.

    You make certain you don’t settle in life for anyone who doesn’t love, respect, and appreciate you as much as I do, as your family does.

    You make sure you introduce any guy you may fall for to mom, and to your brother. If they don’t approve, you listen closely to their reasons why. Do not compromise your integrity — ever!

    Your father loves you Jen… I love you dearly.

    And Justin, my son — my baby… ours is a tough relationship, tough love, no room for timid. It is so easy for me to see your faults, and poke at them — for there in you go I. We are so very much alike it scares me.

    Your imperfections glare at me because I possess them all, every one of them within me — and more. Photos of me from my past, uncanny, they might as well be you.

    But it’s where we are not alike that your miracle begins.

    You are smarter than I ever was. You care for people, honestly. You face life with strength and courage. I just marvel at you – I really do! You have accomplished so much already in your life – and you’ve just begun.

    We argue at times, but my love for you is deep son… my pride is lasting. It’s impossible with these words, to tell you what you mean to me. But every word for love and pride – I feel in my heart for you!

    I know you will miss me, and probably feel lost and angry at first – but you will recover quickly, I know you will. I know how intelligent and strong willed you are.

    Please take care of your mother, and Jenny. They will need your strength, just as you will need their nurturing.

    I love you Jus, and I know you love me — I always have known. We are father and son. inseparable forever — remember that!

    And Aaron, I find myself thinking so much about you. I’m looking at your picture in my wallet. It’s my favorite picture of you, son — the one I cherish most since your passing.

    It is the simple snapshot, taken at the airport, upon your return from having run the New York City Marathon.

    You have a gentle, triumphant smile. Your eyes are beaming behind the “cool” shades you have on. Your jacket sleeves rolled in casual hip-ness, bag thrown carefree over your shoulder, and your medal hangs proudly around your strong neck.

    You are fiercely handsome!

    How profound this captured moment proved to be, taken just before the finish line of your 18 years — it said it all. Your race was run, your bag was packed, and your reward was in your hand. You now fly my sweet angel – fly!

    Dad will be there soon. I can’t wait to throw my arms around you. I have missed you so very much, my gentle giant – but I’m coming.

    Kathy, Jenny, Justin – I don’t want you to cry for this old man too long. I am not afraid out here right now. I feel Aaron with me, so very close – and soon he and I will see each other again.

    We will both wait for each of you guys to finish your business down here on earth – then we will all be together. But take your time and enjoy all there is in life.

    Don’t be too upset with wayward old me. I might have been a smuggler, but I never hurt anyone – and I loved you all from the bottom of my heart.

    I only have two pieces of paper, so this message must come quickly to an end. I really am not frightened. With my last breaths and energy I will be hugging you all, squeezing you tightly – and kissing you all good-bye.

    I love you; please know that – I love you all so much!

    Kathy, go see Warren. He has a key for you. Then go see Grace, she has an address for you. Finally see Barry, he has a box number for you. They don’t know about each other.

    Use these things together and you will be comfortable for the rest of your life.

    When you trim the Christmas tree each year, think of me as you hang the Father Christmas ornament. You know it is my favorite.

    Good-bye… until we are all together again!

    poem & flash fiction by: rob kistner © 2010

    NaPoWriMo #27

    This is my twenty-seventh post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one acrostic
    • one tanka


    ____________________________________

    • inspired by Carolee Sherwood ‘s day 27 prompt at read write poem to write an acrostic

    ____________________________________


     

    Evolution

    •

    Even in chaos nature finds balance.

    Violent floods beget fertile fields.

    One thing ends, another begins.

    Life is a cycle of birth and death.

    Untamed wildfire creates forest ash.

    The ashen remains nurture growth again.

    In the caterpillar lives the butterfly.

    One thing ends, another begins.

    Now and forever, the mandella spins.

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    Stone Fox First

    •

    garage sound check great

    groupies at the ludlow door

    allmans soon to start

    damned duane is still m-i-a

    we stone fox boys are ready

    • • •


    • acrostic and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    …check out who’s gettin’ acrostic at readwritepoem

    NaPoWriMo #21

    This is my twenty-first post for National Poetry Month 2010
    • one free verse poem
    • one short prose

    • one tanka

    ____________________________________

    • inspired by Kristen McHenry’s prompt at read write poem

    ____________________________________




    As I age, my imperfections begin to manifest themselves more and more. I once was young, and handsome, and strong – but that all is waning, and I sometimes feel despair. But the irony here is that, in seeing and feeling more and more acutely, my imperfections, it also eventually shines a light on how fortunate I have been in my life – and the despair often shifts to tearful gratitude… even joy! That is what this poem is about.

     

    Chill Winds

    •

    chill winds of time
    rise in dissonance
    seasons of cold rain
    hiss and tick
    my weathered panes

    life’s essence
    slowly slips my being’s grip
    it’s warmth
    ever-fading

    the pall and ache
    wrap firm my bones
    suppress my spirit
    slowly steal my living core

    I despair of rigid form
    drained of vital sap
    drawn and withered
    robbed of flex and grace

    my light of memory dims
    my pool of knowledge clouds

    dear and beloved go
    one by one
    beyond my call
    beyond the joy and chaos
    of this temporal plane

    what remains is sorrowed pain
    and sinking will

    then you call my name
    beckon me to your embrace
    to sooth and comfort my discontent
    to draw me into your love

    I see again that life’s been good
    that we are blessed to have known all this
    and in that moment

    joy

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    Above It All

    •

    I want to live in a treehouse
    way up high in the branches
    of a big redwood

    several observation platforms
    at different levels
    as you hand-wench yourself
    into the forest canopy

    * optional motorized system

    a three-story treehouse
    huge wrap around porches
    at each level

    the top level
    one big open room

    a place I could write
    work on my art

    where my wife kathy
    could have her fiberart studio
    her big toika loom
    several navajo hand looms
    assembly tables
    all her “found” stuff
    so key to her abstract soft-sculptures

    the roof
    one big deck

    being able to see
    far as the eye could see
    so very liberating
    exhilarating

    riding out big storms
    like flying
    but anchored
    secure

    our treehouse
    would be made of
    anodized aluminum
    stone
    leathers
    and wood
    many woods
    teak, cedar, oak, maple, and walnut
    lots of tempered crystal-clear acrylic

    I’d hand feed the eagles
    the hawks, the osprey
    certainly in my mind

    I’d run guywires
    slide lines
    between tree tops

    we could soar
    through the sun-dappled canopy

    a place high up
    where I could work, live, dance, laugh
    in the nude
    if I wanted

    and make love to my wife
    windows wide open
    the sun and breeze
    free to come and go

    no comments from
    or concerns of
    neighbors

    where I could crank up my jazz

    I want to live in a treehouse
    in our treehouse
    and truly be
    what I’m often accused of being

    removed
    above it all

    • • •

     

    ____________________________________


     

    Jumping

    •

    hunched down leaned forward

    rising with knees soundly gripped

    jumping big horses

    clearing hurdles one by one

    keep him reined but let him run

    • • •


    • poem and tanka by: rob kistner © 2010

    ____________________________________

    …check out the other splendid imperfections at readwritepoem

    The Book(s)

    Two books that changed everything for me — “On The Road” by Jack Kerouac,

    and “The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test” by Tom Wolfe.

    I was a disenchanted-college-student-rock-musician and had just been awakened by the ’67 Summer of Love, when I came upon both of these books in the Spring of 1968 in a bookstore in Clifton, Ohio, just down from the Ludlow Garage, where my band, Stone Fox, had just opened for the Allman Brothers and Santana.

    These books fueled my frustration with “the system”, sparked my wanderlust, and eventually found me and my three best friends, astride internal combustion iron horses, young men heading west — and thus began the rest of my life.

    What these books represented was not a map for the rest of my life, I’m well beyond that angst. Rather, they’re important to me because they were the catalyst that first ignited my genuine independent thought, and empowered me to act on that thinking.

    Following here is a poem I wrote which reflects, quite well, where my head was during that period. You can also click on the highlighted passage young men heading west in the previous paragraph to read a poem I wrote about the motorcycle journey.

     

    Bohemian Nightfall

    •

    when night fell on bohemia
    the streets were set ablaze
    in black light
    in strobe light

    it was tie-dyed psychedelia
    when night fell on bohemia

    jack and neal were on the road
    ridin’ with the fire-whores
    of angst and indignation
    like combustin’ carnal fireballs
    when night fell on bohemia

    allen was howlin’
    pal’n with corso
    and long’n for peter

    hunter, groin deep
    in the brain-drug flesh festival
    …hunter was fearful
    and loathing it all
    when night fell on bohemia

    bill, stark naked
    was lunchin’ with the devil
    jelly-rollin’ in a hell fire
    when night fell on bohemia

    gary headed for cold mountain
    to watch it all from sourdough
    electric bob went subterranean

    me – stung by disenchantment
    the swollen outlaw bastard
    coming fast
    hard as holy hell
    cresting and crashing in
    just as night fell on Bohemia

    I was on my way
    howling mad
    and mind-expanded
    in a rolling demon’s fire,
    lighting the night
    dancing with beelzebub
    raving and blazing
    hormone’d-hungry
    lusting and longing to gorge
    every forbidden morsel and crumb –

    the smorgasborgadelic mindfeast

    when night fell on bohemia
    ken and tim
    gathered up the faithful
    on the magic bus
    and stole off with the future

    like pranksters

    ever further

    • • •
    rob kistner © 2008

    …this post was inspired by sunday scribblings