This year I followed the maples until the trees were bare, until every leaf had fallen. They always have my attention, but this year especially so, or so it seems, perhaps because this year the larger trees on the mountains (in particular, the magnificent beeches) went, in large part, from green to brown, with not much other color in between. In any case, as every year, the color of the maples warmed my heart.

Light. Bending. Reflection. Color. Feelings of love. . . . That’s it.

So here are some photos for you to enjoy. . . . Some of you may wonder, “Followed the leaves? Roamed here and there? Had so much time for loafing? Don’t you work?” The first three questions to which I answer, “Yes. I did indeed.” Regarding the fourth, well, If I were Walt Whitman, I probably wouldn’t bother to reply at all–or might begin a reply that never ends–but since I’m not, I’ll only say that despite all the time spent roaming, not a single class went unprepared for, not a single paper went ungraded, not a single meeting was unattended, not a single student seeking advise was turned away, not a single row of vegetables went uncared for, not a single meal went uncooked, not a single plate went unwashed.

Whitman. Somehow he works his way into the many quotations that circled my brain as I enjoyed the leaves. . . . Please, enjoy the quotes below and enjoy the leaves, too! If no caption is provided it means the photo was taken somewhere along a weeks-long trail down from the mountains of Shizuoka and into the city. Through the gate we go!

Those who are able to see beyond the shadows of their culture will never be understood, let alone believed, by the masses.

Plato

The kindergartener, who learned the day’s lesson well, turned to Plato’s ghost, and shouted, “Can’t never could!”

. . . she lives in a world of people moved by strange, conflicted, poorly comprehended, and, above all, devious motivations which commit them inevitably to conflict and failure.

Joan didion

Every human being on the face of the earth has a steel plate in his head, but if you lie down now and then and get still as you can, it will slide open like elevator doors, letting in all the secret thoughts that have been standing around so patiently, pushing the button for a ride to the top. The real troubles in life happen when those hidden doors stay closed for too long. But that’s just my opinion.

The secret life of bees (sue monk kidd)

I loafe and invite my soul, I lean and loafe at my ease . . . . observing a spear of summer grass.

Leaves of grass (walt whitman)

You shall no longer take things at second or third hand . . . . nor look through the eyes of the dead . . . . nor feed on the spectres in books, You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me, You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself.

Leaves of grass (walt whitman)

. . . the sky above the ridge [was] a lovely azure, the maple leaves fiery orange and red, the beech leaves a dozen different yellows and golds, all of which became, when a breeze swept through the ridge, a swirl of glowing embers–stars in the brightest, most gorgeous night. . . .

(continued)

Yes, stars. Stars are what I saw everywhere. The creator’s breath had whistled through a special sort of prism, and now everything was a primary color. I felt as if I’d walked in through palace doors, into the grandest party that the history of the world had ever known. All the guests were of the strongest moral character, all so magnanimous. They were all there to please each other, to please EVERYONE–and that included me.

(continued)

And I thought that you could take any two people in the universe, two people who’d spat on each other for forever and a day, two people who’d lived every single day for their mutual hatred, and you could set them down, in October, on this Opikkari ridge, get them to gaze up, and they’d never ever EVER have a bad word to say about the other ever again.

(continued)

I sat down and wrote this: Look up to the gold leaves of the beech / Think about the lives of each and each / What they know is so within your reach / Hear the words with which they beseech.

When a sissy climbs a mountain in may

(from Persimmon Dreams: When you’ve got a spare moment, check out Steve’s books, When a Sissy Climbs a Mountain in May and Along the Same Street, available on Amazon, or directly from us. Steve’s new novel, Spider Lilies Bleed, is scheduled for publication in March, 2022. And if you enjoyed this post, consider sharing with others. Thank you!)