The month of remembering

The world being what it is, and not a cloister, we coalesced two days of remembering into one today in our little church - All Saints were celebrated in the morning, and we remembered All Souls as dusk fell, in an atmospheric and quiet service that I always feel is a way to prepare ourselves for what awaits us all. In his address, our rector used words that form a line from a poem I wrote a few years ago, which I posted on Facebook but repeat here because they seem appropriate, this quiet autumn day that is in such contrast to the day I spent yesterday.

My extra photo was taken this morning, just because I love the colours in my garden just now and think they look good against that particular colour of sky.

NOVEMBER

The month of remembering -
the lines of men in the stubble fields
the hideous scramble over a muddy
parapet, the cringing death in the
eye’s blink - this month recalls
wars past and wars still trailing
death and mutilation in their wake.
But not just that.
This month of remembering 
lines up before our wavering prayers
the souls of Saints, the souls
of our beloved dead, guttering
like candles in the fitful 
illumination of our faith.
But not just that.
The tears come, yes - 
but do we weep for them, or do we
shrink at the sudden blinding 
glimpse of our too frail mortality?
We who live trudge on to where
our companion dead are waiting
among the red flowers at the years’ end
in that land to which we go.

©C.M.M. 11/14