Posted by: Peadar Ban | September 26, 2014

Today, September 26, 2014

Autumn has put his bags down on the drive out front, and paying off the limo driver, he’s turned and waved to me at the window, all bright smiles and cheer.  What a fellow he is.  He has arrived, come back at last.  Thank God he’s back.  I do love his brother Summer, himself just gone, but, good Lord, he grows tiresome some seasons; particularly strength sappingly so this year when he just wouldn’t stop with his warm embraces, soft hearted fellow that he is.  I grew to miss his sweet sister Spring as I hadn’t for a couple of years, and yearned for at least a month for him to get up, stretch, and tell me, “I think I’ll take a little trip.”

Those were the thoughts I found inside me as I put my feet on the floor just a few hours ago.  It was six-thirty and the sun had been at its work for at least a little while; rising now much further south to trace a shallower curve across the sky than its long June voyages into the north; to make a cooler ever more swift journey into evening.  I made myself a cup of tea, or it made itself for me.  And while it brewed on the counter beside the sink I went outside in the back yard to test the day and count the many reasons why it was as good as it seemed to me through the window at the kitchen sink while the kettle came to a boil.

There were a few slim clouds above, gold ribbons , saffron veils hung between the rows of trees; wrapped around the maples’ shoulders, the raised arms of the pines.  And where the sun had risen finally between two large oaks in my neighbor’s yard in June, clear sky, milky blue, the color of Mary’s mantle in almost every painting I’ve ever seen, promised me peace today.

Ten huge blossoms on the nearest Moon Flower greeted every one above with their chorus of white beauty, their sweet honey flavored perfume bathing the whole yard.  No bees yet at work over there among them I wandered over and bent to take a little taste of heaven and got my slippers and my feet dew drenched in the journey.

Back inside, the tea was ready and warm.  I sat, then, where I usually sit and began to read, to think, to pray in pure thanks for the gift of the day.

“I arise today…”

Here is  poem I wrote a long time ago after I had been atop the Hill of Slane where the fellow who wrote those word had stood early one morning long ago:

ATOP THE HILL OF SLANE

If I remember it correctly
The first day of February
Was New Year’s day, Beltane.
In another place far from here
The day once had that name.
It had something to do with kings
And hills of course, and flame.

I was in that country not long ago
At year’s other end from Beltane
Near Tara’s Hill, atop the Hill of Slane.
A tree was there, a ruin, a pasture
Spread with grass, wet manure
And old crumbled stones, crushed ruins bones.

This is what I saw
And this is what I saw.
The sky above, the earth below
And waiting all around
The light of day against the night.
The light of Christ in Patrick’s hand
Tara and the king far off, so,
Beltane a memory, wish, shadow,
The four points, once far, so near.
The light of Christ with Patrick dear.

peg
02-12-04


One Minute Meditations

Eternity
I advise you not to look for praise, even when you deserve it. It is better to pass unnoticed, and to let the most beautiful and noble aspects of our actions, of our lives, remain hidden. What a great thing it is to become little! Deo omnis gloria! –All the glory to God.

– St. Josemaria Escriva
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