I sat on the back stoop on the cusp of autumn, coffee in hand, and bade goodbye to summer. "Seems like I hardly knew you," I said. Summer sighed, reluctant to move on.
But despite her grip, the first frost will come to our valley and the growing season will come to an end. Signs of the seasonal change have shown up the past few weeks. The barn swallows that nest in the old dairy barn have flown south.
The hummingbirds are passing through, stopping to fuel up before continuing their southern journey. The apple harvest has been abundant. We've picked many for eating and for freezing.
The deer make their nightly visits to feast on the fallen ones. Time — relentless and without mercy — marches on. The change of the seasons marks the cadence.
The summer solstice where daylight rules slowly gives way to the autumnal equinox and we slide into the season of darkness. This was the summer that I was going to enjoy sitting outside on the porch more often. This was the summer I was going to sit around more nighttime campfires.
This was the summer that ...
the good intention list trails off and disappears like the spring lilacs. Too busy, but deeds left undone. Too tired, but regrets remembered.
I allowed myself a brief melancholic wallow to tune into my emotions. The valley was waking up. The birds sang and coyotes mourned in the distance.
The sun was breaking through the morning fog. Then autumn whispered, "I am here." She was there across the creek in the green canopy of leaves.
Sp.