FALLing

According to the calendar, there is one more week until the official first day of autumn, but the signs of its approach are undeniably already here. Daylight starts earlier and fades sooner, early mornings are cold enough for a jacket, school buses are once again making their daily runs, the hummingbird feeders have been thoroughly rejected, my fall bulbs have poked their noses through the ground, and the maize of the harvested wheat fields has over-ripened into a burnished gold. One of the things I love about this area is that we experience all four of Earth’s seasons, but I do hate to see my favorite one end.

This cycle of seasons parallels life, of course, and autumn seems to be the season of letting go, something with which I struggle. Whether it is letting go of growing children, aging parents, or lazy summer days, I fight the inevitable for as long as I can. Yes, I understand that life, especially new life, depends upon death and dormancy; I, too, have read The Giving Tree. However, it is much more satisfying to wax philosophically about it while lounging at a safe distance in a deck chair with a cold lemonade in my hand on a warm July day than when I feel the nearness of its cold breath seeping down my neck.

Herein lies my greatest error: the tendency to waste the precious little time that is left to me by fretting about what might be approaching. Therefore, I am hereby documenting these seasonal changes with a determined fearlessness about what is to come because I am determinedly devoted to enjoying what has not yet passed. I will take time to marvel at the last fingers of golden sunshine that bathe the still golden hills, feel the luxuriance of the grass under my bare feet as I walk across my tender lawn, and treasure the simple things we can still do together. After these fade into fall I will content myself with different colors, joys, and traditions, knowing that a new summer will come again in time.