Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Praise Him with Harp and Lyre. Praise Him with Acorns.

I have a new favorite sound of fall: acorns hitting a tin roof. There is violence in the collision between seed and metal. Up in my office, in my half-story, I hear them overhead: Crack. Clunk. Fall. They bounce loudly sometimes: Paink. Pink, pink. Do the squirrels sleep in the midst of this forceful manna? Or does it make them even more twitchingly nervous? I like to think it calms their tails and quiets their whiskers, soothing them with the sure knowledge of food for tomorrow and for the winter that approaches.

Oaks are beautiful trees, so liberal with their acorns and so conservative with their leave - good and true trees. They are hoary old fellows, wrinkled with age. And though they are not autumnally attractive - their leaves simply brown on their limbs - they say fall, they praise, just the same as the golden pecan trees and the dazzlingly bright maples. But they say it percussively, with acorns striking tin roofs.

4 comments:

Sherry C said...

I really like this. Thanks for taking the ordinary and pointing out the sublime in it.

Meg said...

You're gettin' all gentle and meaningful on us now;).

see-through faith said...

it is funny though how oak leaves are so unspectacular in autumn, and yet the trees are so magestic

Jamie Dawn said...

I think grand old oak trees are beautiful. I also love cypress trees with those gnarly, claw-footed trunks in the water.
I hope to live where I can have both in my back yard.
South Carolina would be just perfect..... Ahhhhh.