Plentitude and Plenitude

Today's Photo: "Office Greenery"

Frog Autumn
By Sylvia Plath

Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
The insects are scant, skinny.
In these palustral homes we only
Croak and wither.

Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
The sun brightens tardily
Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us.
The fen sickens.

Frost drops even the spider. Clearly
The genius of plenitude
Houses himself elsewhere. Our folk thin
Lamentably.

Last week I brought some more books from my house into my office at church. One of these books is a collection of poetry by Sylvia Plath. I have been captivated by her since I learned about her in a literature class, but I generally don’t understand the words she writes. I think there’s a part of my brain that refuses to enter into the abstract world. There’s a part of my brain that longs for all things sensical and oftentimes I can’t make instant “sense” of her poetry. However, I turned to this poem today, and it suddenly totally makes sense to me. It’s a poem about what autumn feels like for a frog.

I’m not sure why, but reading it makes me feel a little somber. That might be because I’m listening to John Mayer’s depressing love songs in the background.

Back to work. I like that line: “Clearly the genius of plenitude houses himself elsewhere.” Doesn’t it sound beautiful?

Also, a big bonus! I now know both plentitude and plenitude are actual words! And they have similar meanings. How about that?

It’s going to be a great day.