Change in the Air
It’s been a long, hot summer… no, really. The hottest summer on record apparently, but I look around and I can see subtle signs that fall is coming. A squirrel grabbing stuffing from a lawn chair cushion for a nest, racing up into the lilac with a white puffball sticking out of his mouth when I open the door. The sound of geese honking overhead making their way south. The mornings are finally beginning to feel refreshingly cool, and the day temperatures are much more bearable. Seeing bare dirt in my vegetable beds where the last of the onions and beets have been pulled out. Taking the dog out for his morning walk and seeing him jog along sniffing the crisp air instead of… well, if a dog could trudge…
I’m not a fan of winter, I don’t like being cold. I don’t mind snow. Snow is very pretty and since I don’t have to drive in it I have no problem with snow. If snow could fall while it’s oh… say 60 degrees… I’d be fine with it. But winter is an inevitability, and glorious spring comes after and that thought sustains me while I’m shoveling the sidewalk or pulling on an extra sweatshirt to work downstairs.
I love spring and fall the most… I think because they’re the seasons of change, of metamorphosis. You can actually see and feel nature at work all around you and have the sense more keenly of the passage of time. In the fall I dream of going places I’ve never been, doing things that I’ve never done before it’s too late and in the spring I only want to be home and plant, nurture, and watch green things grow. Winter and summer are times of waiting… waiting for warmth, waiting for harvest… and the world spins on.