The Purple Flower and the Light of September

Funnily enough, before I took the photo of the purple flower in this post, I'd read an article about the lengths some photographers go to get a shot. That's really not me, I thought, though maybe I should, you know, challenge myself a bit more. Get out more. Go places. 

But the low and golden light of September is everywhere. And so when I spotted this purple flower in the tall grasses near the stand of trees in the neighbourhood dry pond, I thought, yes. That's what I need. I took a shot or two. I needed to move a step back. I'm holding the camera, maneuvering the dog's leash, I step back – and sink into a hole, through a clump of dirt, up past my knee. I fall to my other knee. I'm bruised and my entire lower leg is scraped and bleeding, as I limp home, with the photograph of my purple flower. 

I walked home in the chill air of September, revelling in the light even so. The light that is "neither before nor after." 

To the Light of September

by W.S. Merwin

When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not 

and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later

you
who fly with them 

you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew

{source}

I tried not to read too much into this mishap, this falling into a hole thing. A rut. I'm bruised and my muscles ache days later. I'm feeling old and creaky. But at least I didn't break a bone or my camera. I went home, wiped the mud and blood off myself, cleaned my camera. I looked at the photos. The September light was irrefutable. And the photograph of the purple flower was a balm. It was all that it needed to be.