October is almost over. Was there a full moon last night? If there was, it’s known as a “Hunter’s Moon” or a “Harvest Moon.”
For some strange reason, I woke up this morning thinking of one of my farmer friends. Earlier this year, he lived through a devastating barn fire that changed the course of his well-intentioned farm plan. I remember first learning about the fire and then reading his own thoughts about it; it struck me that he ended his blog post with a quote from one of my own favorite authors, F. Scott Fitzgerald.
“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…And one fine morning—
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
The Great Gatsby is part of the “learner’s permit” of American Literature. Everyone reads it once before they can drive the bigger works of literature. It’s a stunningly sad story and the language is exquisite. The movie versions of this novel are mostly pure to Fitzgerald’s intentions.
It’s Sunday and the remaining October brew in my tea cup is cold and bitter; I won’t drink it. I’m feeling a little bit like old F. Scott today, worn out yet pointing my boat back against the current. It’s raining leaves outside and the weather puppets say it may also rain airborne precipitation, like a hurricane. My father tells me there will be plenty of leaves to rake and my mother says The Motel will open for such festivities. As they say in the common parlance, “it’s all good.”
I’m going to rest today and think about “beating on,” into November.
You rest too.