It's small things that engage our attention at this time of year: fallen leaves like confetti on the old wooden dock at the lake, woodland maples arrayed in red and gold, tall sunflowers inclining their heads and dropping thousands of seed children, damp furrows where a garden once bloomed and fruited, bronzey oak leaves on the trail touched by cold and crackling wonderfully underfoot in their earthy sepias and rosy creams, flickering sunlight bending and flowing across our path on walks in the woods. September's little ordinaries conjure a litany that is poignant, spicy on the tongue and touched with dusty fragrance.
Lines of swallows congregate and chatter on telephone lines before flying south. Skeins of geese move to and fro between rivers and farm fields, and there are the steady wing beats and plaintive calls of loons saying goodbye as they head for warmer moorings. Great herons still haunt local waters here and there, but they will not be far behind the loons in departing. The magnificent beech trees in our woods are turning, and their coppery leaves fall in burnished, windblown showers. Is it just me, or is there a restless melancholy spirit loose in the village and haunting the countryside in September?
Far from last month's thoughts of salads and cold drinks, I find myself pondering soups and stews, corn fritters and gingerbread, the first McIntosh apples lovingly folded into a baked crumble with oatmeal, maple syrup and cinnamon. Thoughts of comfort food are a sure indication of autumn, all by themselves.
Life becomes quieter as daylight hours wane in the last quarter of the calendar year. Temperatures tumble, migratory kin leave, and we drink every blessed thing in like wine. Gloves on our gnarly paws, and collars turned up against the wind, we ramble and ponder and feast our senses on the colors, sounds and spicy fragrances of autumn. Then we come home to tea and toast and molasses cookies at nightfall. It's all good.
2 comments:
Bless you, Cate, and thank you for this. I've been having such a hard time accepting the end of summer this year. We didn't have a very nice season here in northern Michigan - cool and rainy mostly, with very few of my most-loved sunny and hot days, and I am feeling blue at the thought of autumn so soon. Your words remind that there are things to be loved about this brief season, too, before the long winter sets in. Thanks for the timely reminder. As so often happens when I come to visit every morning, you have lifted my spirits. :)
Hi Cate
As I type the geese are calling overhead. A few more days here then back to the city. Maybe we can see autumn here next year but this year other journeys beckon. Tonight I have been thinking of Edwin W. Teale and his may travels through the seasons.
All the best
Guy
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