Today, I took a photo, read a few poems, walked this morning, and worked on a graphic story. Each effort had me thinking about balance. Today is the equinox. All week I have been shifting gears from summer mode into the autumn approach. The light has shifted, but here in Virginia the temperatures are still mild. I am transitioning from being focused on painted pages to making pots.

It has taken me a long time to come to love the autumn in this part of the world. It is slow and gentle. The colors in my garden are rich, filled with dahlias, zinnias, Mexican sage, pineapple sage, and sculptural overgrown okra. I remember when we had finally lived in this house long enough that the views from our windows were filled with autumn leaves. One might think of it as wearing the leaves like curtains. Some leaves are ready to fall, but I am glad that we have a long time before the bare branches take over our view. It’s still warm, but after dark we enjoy making a cup of tea.

Between Autumn Equinox and Winter Solstice, Today

I read a Korean poem
with the line “Today you are the youngest
you will ever be.” Today I am the oldest
I have been. Today we drink
buckwheat tea. Today I have heat
in my apartment. Today I think
about the word chada in Korean.
It means cold. It means to be filled with.
It means to kick. To wear. Today we’re worn.
Today you wear the cold. Your chilled skin.
My heart kicks on my skin. Someone said
winter has broken his windows. The heat inside
and the cold outside sent lightning across glass.
Today my heart wears you like curtains. Today
it fills with you. The window in my room
is full of leaves ready to fall. Chada, you say. It’s tea.
We drink. It is cold outside.

—Emily Jungmin Yoon, in A Cruelty Special to Our Species, The Ecco Press (HarperCollins Publishers)