We have been in a stretch of perfect autumnal weather: chilly nights, clear days, before the time change so we still have plenty of time to enjoy this perfect October time. As I drove down the Cumberland Highway on Saturday, I was struck by how many small towns had piled pumpkins around the "Welcome to ______ " signs. Pumpkins and hay bales and perhaps a scarecrow that wouldn't scare a soul.
It's not the perfect leaf viewing season, however. Yesterday I stood on the back deck and stared up at the trees, and I was startled to realize how thin the leaf canopy is. Many trees dropped their leaves before attaining full autumnal glory--and many trees are still fairly green in leaf.
When we first moved to South Florida, I didn't realize how different the seasons would be. I didn't miss winter much, and summers seemed similar to South Carolina, but every year I had a fierce yearning for fall. One year we bought two puzzles, and I still remember the one with the autumnal picture. It was a nineteenth century town with horses and wagons and a big dance happening in the center of the village. The trees had the perfect assortment of autumnal leaves and pumpkins dotted the puzzle landscape.
We put that puzzle together in the fall of 2001, when the world felt so topsy-turvy. It was soothing to put the puzzle together.
I was teaching the British literature survey class, and I had Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn" on my brain--those figures on the urn, forever frozen in whatever emotional moment they experienced right then. I thought the puzzle offered a similar dynamic.
It's an interesting spiritual question that Keats poses: is it better to be forever poised to kiss the beloved? Is it better to live in the moment of anticipation, rather than having to deal with all the messy humanness that comes after the kiss, once we truly know our beloved?
And there are larger questions posed by both the urn and the poem: how do we stay in the here and now? How do we not get distracted by our sorrows? How do we maintain our faith, in the face of enormous woes? For me, during that autumn of 2001 that broke our hearts in so many ways, the answer came in the jigsaw puzzle.
I've never thought of jigsaw puzzles as spiritual practice or meditation aid. Perhaps I should.
As these thoughts swirled in my brain, a poem began to emerge. It's now 25 years old, so the imagery of disaster might feel dated, not something I considered when I composed it. Despite the dated reference to September 11, I think it holds up relatively well.
Ode on an American Puzzle
These people do not puzzle over how the pieces
of their lives fit together. They know their purpose,
always at the center of the picture.
They will never return home to unfinished
craft projects and unwashed dishes. They will celebrate
continuously at this harvest dance, the deepest
darks of night and winter always at arm’s
length, the leaves always brightly colored,
mounds of pumpkins waiting for transformation,
every woman and man matched, the children tended.
Perhaps that is why I like puzzles.
As buildings melt and planes explode, and even smaller tragedies
rip apart the pieces of a life, I find
a measured calm that even poetry cannot provide.
I sit at this table, free from existential mystery.
I know what picture will emerge as I piece
this project into one. I know that all the parts
have been provided. I know that they will connect.
What other aspect of my life can hope
to offer the same consolation?
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