There is rain on the window pane, and bleakness beyond: the closing in of early winter, with more closing in to come. It is not yet the festive season.
But the geraniums are heralds of change. Leaves may turn brown. Petals may be shed. But the insistent continuity of these flowers is a bright blessing in a grey moment, a vivid affirmation of the life force itself.
Contemplating these geraniums marks for me a distinctive point in the wheel of time, and the timeless Now that holds it.
Looking out
from my apparently restricted life
I see the wide world,
expectant.
It is the beginning of sunset,
a critical moment
in the wheel of the day.
Facing east,
I have the sun behind me
still with some warmth –
but on the brink
(I know)
of accelerated descent.
My eastward vision embraces
pale blue sky
pink clouds
wooded hills,
and a residue of sunlight
on the majestic hornbeam
whose leaves have begun to turn.
Early autumn, early evening:
a whole world in seeming suspension
between one state and another.
The wheel turns
through both day and year.
States are not fixed
at any point in time.
Yet to notice the moment
with softened heart
and strengthened sight
makes that moment eternal.
Looking out
from my apparently restricted life,
I see the wide world,
expectant.
He who binds himself to a joy
Doth the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.
William Blake Complete Writings Oxford University Press, 1972 (edited by Geoffrey Keynes)
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