The Wild Reed: Autumn Psalm

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I glimpsed the images of autumn that comprise this evening's post when recently down by the Mississippi River, close to the Franklin Avenue Bridge, and when walking through the nearby Seward neighborhood of south Minneapolis. This neighborhood has been my home now for about a month, having moved here from that part of south Minneapolis close to Chicago Ave. and Minnehaha Creek.

My photos are accompanied by Edward Hays' “Autumn Psalm of Fearlessness,” from his book Prayers for a Planetary Pilgrim. And, yes, Edward's psalm has taken on new and special significance since I started working as a palliative care chaplain just over a year ago.

I am surrounded by a peaceful ebbing,
as creation bows to the mystery of life;
all that grows and lives must give up life,
yet it does not really die.
As plants surrender their life,
bending, brown and wrinkled,
and yellow leaves of trees
float to my lawn like parachute troops,
they do so in a sea of serenity.

I hear no fearful cries from creation,
no screams of terror,
as death daily devours
once-green and growing life.
Peaceful and calm is autumn's swan song,
for she understands
that hidden in winter's death-grip
is spring's openhanded,
full-brimmed breath of life.

It is not a death rattle that sounds
over fields and backyard fences;
rather I hear a lullaby
softly swaying upon the autumn wind.
Sleep in peace, all that lives;
slumber secure, all that is dying,
for in every fall there is the rise
whose sister's name is spring.