A poet explores the in-between of seasons

Posted in Duff 'n Stuff

Duff ’n Stuff, Oct. 8, 2012

“In Search of Truth and Beauty” returns with my guest blogger, poet Joni Takanikos and her ruminations on the time between seasons, when our senses are alive with the anticipation of possiblity. Keep an eye out for future posts by Takanikos and other guest bloggers in a new section of the magazine to be launched later this month.

In Search of Truth and Beauty


In these days, after the summer sun has faded, and has been replaced by the rich golden light and crisp air of autumn, we all ride the wave of transition.

This in-between space has always intrigued and delighted my sensibility. I love the first days of school, watching the kids await the school bus with anticipation, while still holding on to their summer memories. Here in the Northwest it seems we are usually blessed with our most glorious weather between late summer and autumn, so our transition period between summer and fall is longer than most regions.  While still wearing our summer clothes through the day, our sweaters wrap around us in the evening light. We are like the leaves that will begin to change color and eventually drop completely away from our time of summer. And what a breathtaking summer it has been, warm enough for us to really dig our toes in the sand and feel the heat, while remaining blessed with our lovely temperate climate.

Last year, as I stood out on a friend’s deck  watching the swallows dart and flit through the afternoon light, I was inspired to write a poem about the transition from spring to summer.

An ancient church in County Cork, Ireland illustrates the in-between; the mystery of what lies beyond. (Joni Takanikos photo)

I think that the richness of transitory times is how everything is contained within them, because they are neither here nor there, and neither are we in that moment. It is the lovely moment of anticipation as we await the train that will carry us forward onto the next leg of our journey. Safe travels!

After the fall
(winter’s promise)

Summer almost here,
Riding her horse of bells
Blowing in the wind.
Swallows skirt the low sky
Near the eaves of us,
We wander without will
Warm in our bones,
Not knowing how it ends
Only catching sight of
The swallow’s violet wings
That shimmer like fallen
Eyelashes on your cheek.
The eclipse only partial,
And yet we drag beneath the saddle,
Struggle to hang on to
The light that is
Already disappearing.


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