Autumn’s Quiet Spell

We read George Parsons Lothrop’s “Incantation” and wander through autumn’s soft, eerie light to awaken the hidden rooms of imagination. We reflect on descent and return, the poise of neap tides, and how quiet rituals can turn fog into a teacher.

Transcript

Welcome & October Poetry Series

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Hello, and welcome to Breathe and Be. I'm Mary Ann, and I'm so glad you're here. This is the third episode in our October poetry series. As the air turns crisp, shadows grow longer, and words feel like whispers from another world. Today we'll hear Incantation by George Parsons Lothrop, a poet of the late 19th century whose work captures both the beauty and the subtle eeriness of the unseen. As you listen, let yourself sink into the rhythm of the poem, imagining the flicker of candlelight, the hush of a quiet room, and the gentle thrill of something mysterious just beyond reach. Notice any images, sensations, or feelings that arise as the words weave their spell around you. When the leaves, by thousands thin, a thousand times have whirled in the wind, and the moon with hollow cheek staring from her hollow height, consolation seems to seek from the dim re echoing night, and the fog streaks dead and white lie like ghosts of lost delight. O'er highest earth and lowest sky, then autumn work thy witchery, strew the ground with poppy seeds, and let my bed be hung with weeds, growing gaunt and rank and tall, drooping o'er me like a pall. Send thy stealthy white eyed mist across my brow to turn and twist, fold on fold and leave me blind to all save visions in the mind. Then in the depth of rain fed streams I shall slumber and in dreams slide through some long glen that burns with a crust of blood red ferns, and brown withered wings of break like a burning lava lake, so urged to fearful faster flow by the awful gasp hock hock of the crow Shall pass by many a haunted road of the nutty odorous wood, or where the hemlocks lean and loom Shall fill my heart with bitter gloom, till lured by light, reflected cloud, I burst aloft my watery shroud, and upward through the ether sail, far above the shrill winds wail, but falling fence my soul involve with the dust dead flowers dissolve, and gliding out at last see lulled to a long tranquility, the perfect poise of seasons keep, with the tides that rest at Neep, so must be fulfilled the right that giveth me the dead year's might, and at dawn I shall arise, a spirit though with human eyes, a human form and a human face, and where I go or stay, there the summer's perish grace shall be with me night and day. Thank you for taking time to listen to the poem Incantation. George Parsons Lothrop had a talent for weaving quiet, mysterious magic into his words. Moments where the ordinary feels just a little eerie, and the unseen hum softly beneath the surface. In incantation, we are invited to step into that subtle power to notice the hidden currents of wonder and imagination that dwell in the corners of our inner world. As you move through your day, consider this. Is there a part of your imagination or inner world that has been quiet or hidden? What might happen if you let it awaken even just for a little while in these darker, shorter days of autumn? Next week, we'll continue our October journey with another poem from the public domain. We will drift into the haunting beauty of nature and the unknown with a ballad, The Lake of the Dismal Swamp by Thomas More. Together, we'll wander the shadowed landscapes of this evocative setting, noticing both its melancholy and haunting enchantment. Until then, carry a little of this spell with you and allow yourself to notice a subtle magic hidden in your own day.