Christopher Donahue

black rain slick branches

a week before Thanksgiving

wet dark cold dank days

copyright Christopher Donahue 2019

Brooding slate gray skies

Bushy squirrel nests high in trees

Cold hard leaf strewn ground

Copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue 

Every year  at the end of October, there is a curious astronomical event I look for shortly after sunset. It involves a particular star called Arcturus that glowers bright red in the twilight sky every year during Halloween week. The curious part about Arcturus shining in the sky this time of year is that it shines in the exact spot the sun would be shining if it were Summer. And because Arcturus is a faint imitation of the brilliant sun, the phenomena is poetically referred to as the Ghost of Summer Suns.

Standing in my back yard last evening, amidst the fallen leaves, it’s fun to consider that if it were summer, the sun would be setting but it would still be daylight. Instead, it’s Autumnal twilight and a little red star is in the sun’s place- an ominous reminder the earth is moving inexorably toward winter.

And also a reminder I should go inside,  lest the ghosts and goblins of Halloween week sneak up on me as I’m preoccupied looking at the stars!

Copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue

October means leaf-peeping in New England. It was a clear-blue, sunny Saturday and my wife and I decided to take a drive and enjoy the foliage.

As we followed the winding roads through the sun-dappled countryside, we zipped by  a  beautiful old saltbox-style house that caught out attention.  Behind an old stone wall, the salt-box sat on a green lawn strewn with bright autumn leaves. Smoke curled from the chimney. The home looked like it was recently renovated and the homeowners had done  a fantastic job.  The thought of the renovation brought to mind all the carpenters and craftspeople who worked on the home and how proud they must be of their work.

My stream of consciousness then took me to the next thought: Old school, carpenter work boots with the thick, white soft tread.    I had been coveting a pair of those boots since childhood but reluctant to spend the money- especially since I’m not a carpenter.

And that made me think of my dearly departed older sister who I looked up to as a kid for all things cool. Back in the day, my sister always referred to those boots as “shit-kickers.”

And that made me think of my father. Sitting alone at the bedside of that very same sister. She was in a coma and dying from an aneurysm. It was hard to believe it has been ten years.   Family had come to the hospital to support us. I was quietly talking with my cousins when I saw my father sitting at my sister’s bed side. He was sitting in a chair with his back to us. His feet together. His hands on his lap. He might have been praying. He might have been thinking of a life of trials and struggle. And now the death of his dear child. His daughter.

I thought of all of that in an instant before I refocused on driving.

Then we zipped by the red salt-box house, on that beautiful day,  me with my wonderful wife, and the autumn leaves falling and swirling behind our passing car.

copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue

A little haiku in observation of the tenth month.

vibrant autumn leaves

swirl up and around the yard  

fleeting October

copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue

Summer 2019 was drawing to a close and realized we had yet to go to the beach.

And by beach, we meant The Beach, which means the ocean in these parts. We had been taking dips in lakes and swimming pools all summer, but no trip to  the seashore.  Neither my wife nor I are big beach people.  Going to the beach is more of a ritual for us than a passion. Our yearly tradition is to go to the shore at least once a summer. And usually, we put off going until we forget about it. Then we realize we were running out of time because there is no endless summer in temperate zones. To make the situation more dire, September arrived with unseasonably cool weather. It looked like we wouldn’t be making the beach after all this summer.

But the weather turned promising. Hot, humid beach weather was forecast for last full day of summer. And the last full  day fell perfectly on  Sunday.  We packed up the blanket and umbrella and other  paraphernalia  folding chairs and sunscreen, and made the forty minute ride to board-walk-kitschy  Nantasket beach. We wondered on the drive if the beach would be crowded with last minute sun worshipers. We then surmised real beach-people had gone  to the beach all summer, had their fill and and  moved on to fall.

We were correct. The beach was nearly empty. We relaxed, worked on our tans and went in the water a few times.  After several splendid hours,  we packed it up and proceeded to the next part of our yearly beach going ritual: We made a stop at Dairy Queen.

A perfect end to summer.

Copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue

The timeless, summertime vibe we all love so much made me forget what day of the week it was. The beautiful weather and vacationing, got me out of my work-life rhythm. Early one weekday morning, I stood looking in the mirror wondering if it were Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.

A little deduction was in order…

It couldn’t be Monday because the reluctance to return to work would be an overwhelming identifier for that day. And it couldn’t be Friday for opposite reasons: The anticipation of the weekend would make certain I knew it was the last day of the work week.

Then I looked at my shave-cream-covered chin in the mirror. All my life I’d  been unable to grow a decent beard. Not being a hirsute man, I shaved only three days a week: Monday, Wednesday and Friday.   That settled the matter.

It was Wednesday by a shave.

copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue

August is the Sunday of the months.  I wish I could say I came up with that quote, but I didn’t.  A fellow commuter made the observation as we waited for the train last week. And he was correct.  August is like a long, summer Sunday afternoon. One can enjoy the fine weather and time off, but there is an underlying foreboding or anxiety that it is all coming to an end. Just like spending a Sunday slightly  stressed about impending Monday.

August weather is certainly beautiful, but there is no escaping the feeling a good time is coming to a seasonal end.  It begins with the subtle realization the days are again getting shorter. It follows with the slight change in the weather.  I go out to see the Persied meteor shower and there’s a good chance the evening will be cloudy-unlike in  July.   The morning and evening  breezes begin to get cooler. I need a sweatshirt over my t-shirt and shorts. And right on schedule,  my tomatoes are starting to ripen.

If ever there was a time to live in the moment and make summer last, it is August.

To continue this metaphor, I wonder if I will be writing about September as the Monday of months? I will have to get there and see.

Presently, it is enough for me to stay in the moment.

copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue

One July morning, I saw a bee going into a flower and knew everything was all right with the world.

It was a few days before the Fourth of July, and  I was up early to water my tomato plants before work. Barefoot and wearing a t-shirt and shorts, I made my rounds with my watering can to a patch of tomatoes I planted behind the garage. Even though  it was turning out to be a beautiful day, I was already preoccupied with the worries of work.

That is, until I saw a bee flying into a hosta blossom. The virtual world had made me forget bees pollinate flowers.  I was grateful that while I might have forgotten,  the bees were on the job taking care of business.

And that’s when I knew everything was indeed all right with the world.

Just for that instant.

copyright 2019 Christopher Donahue