September 2022

The equinox of autumn approaches. And, as always, the ending - even to this singularly fraught, drought-seared summer - is bittersweet. There will be much to miss in the generous canopy of the catalpa tree and the cobalt swooping of the swallow. Yet, there also will be much to embrace in the coming chill hours and the clamorous vees of Canada geese.

The Power of 9

by Didi Chadran

I still dream of the book of numbers you

Shared with me that day at Old Frog Pond Farm

When you led me to the water’s edge to

Sit and gaze into the nacreous brown.

You asked what exactly I saw, and

I started to render pond froth as if

Tiny white foam flotillas. I pointed,

“See how some surge and halt, impounded by

Eddies, while others glide resolutely past?

How some cleave, like amoebas, while others

Divorce, to find new paths, new rivulets?”

I looked up towards your face. You just smiled:

“It’s time to turn this off, open your eyes.

Surrender full to this instant in time.”

“No story, no metaphor,” you told me.

“Practice watching, not weaving. Hold onto

Each still second - not montage - in your heart.”

Just pause, you said. Just feel. Let what is be.

This moment is all. There is no origin

Or destination. The froth. The water.

That lily pad. The sun. This rock wall. Us.

The power of 9. The enigma of 1.

We. Together. Separate. Connected.

Our breath. This breeze. The thrum of life adored.

Didi Chadran is a doting father; a dabbler in poetry, prose, and storytelling;

an unapologetically liberal microblogger on Instagram and Twitter; a

corporate content strategist; and the alchemist of a

sambal

-style hot sauce

whose flavor arcs from sweet and umami to scorching in the span of two

seconds. A vociferous adherent of the ideas that Black Lives Matter,

democracy is fragile, and community is destiny, Didi lives and works in

Downtown Mill City Lowell.