Today was windy, and leaves fell by the thousands. Rather than pleading "Slow, slow!" (like Robert Frost), I thought: "Stop, stop! Not yet!" To no avail, of course. Another instance of the World's impassivity, a topic that I visited a few months ago.
A poem by John Drinkwater (1882-1937) seems apt. Although Drinkwater is now known only for the much-anthologized "Moonlit Apples" ("moonlit apples of dreams . . . moon-washed apples of wonder"), he did write other poems that are worth remembering.
I do not think that skies and meadows are
Moral, or that the fixture of a star
Comes of a quiet spirit, or that trees
Have wisdom in their windless silences.
Yet these are things invested in my mood
With constancy, and peace, and fortitude,
That in my troubled season I can cry
Upon the wide composure of the sky,
And envy fields, and wish that I might be
As little daunted as a star or tree.
John Drinkwater, Tides (1917).