My mind moves in more than one place

 but my  thoughts are September thoughts, as I begin to clean up the spent blossoms in the garden.

Here are the words some wonderful poets choose to use:

"Lord, it is time. The summer was very big. Lay thy shadow on the sundials, and on the meadows let the winds go loose. Command the last fruits that they shall be full; give them another two more southerly days, press them on to fulfillment and drive the last sweetness into the heavenly wine."

-     Rainer Maria Rilke

 

"Further in Summer than the Birds

Pathetic from the Grass

A minor Nation celebrates

Its unobtrusive Mass.

 

No Ordinance be seen

So gradual the Grace

A pensive Custom it becomes

Enlarging Loneliness."

-   Emily Dickinson

 

"I have come to a still, but not a deep center,

A point outside the glittering current;

My eyes stare at the bottom of a river,

At the irregular stones, iridescent sandgrains,

My mind moves in more than one place,

In a country half-land, half-water.

I am renewed by death, thought of my death,

The dry scent of a dying garden in September,

The wind fanning the ash of a low fire.

What I love is near at hand,

Always, in earth and air."

-  Theodore Roethke, The Far Field