Friday, July 22, 2022

Friday Ramble - July's Ticking Clock

Somewhere in the dusty recesses of my noggin, the passing of these sultry summer days is being marked, and ever so wistfully. The clock of the seasons is ticking away in the background, and I find myself pondering the shape of the golden interval that is ebbing all too swiftly. The other three seasons of a northern calendar year are splendid of course, and there are surely other fine summers ahead, but this summer is waning, and its days are numbered. The summer solstice has come and gone, and we are sliding gently down the hill toward autumn, shorter days and longer nights.

Thoughts of coming and going are ever inscribed on summer's middling pages, and they're unsettling notions, making for restlessness and vague discontent, a gentle melancholy concerning the nature of time, what is falling away and the transience of all earthly things. A heightened awareness of suchness (or tathata) is a middle-of-the-summer thing for sure. For the most part, one goes gently along with the flow, breathing in and out, trying to rest in the moment and do the gardeny things that need doing.

Old garden roses are a perfect metaphor for the season. Most bloom once in a calendar year, but what a show they put on when they do. Their unruly tangles of wickedly thorny canes and blue-green leaves wear delicate pink (mostly) blooms with crinkled petals and golden hearts. Each rose is unique, and each is exquisite until the moment when its faded petals flutter to earth like snowflakes. For several weeks after Midsummer, their fragrance lingers in every corner of the garden, and when I come into the house after pruning and deadheading, their perfume clings to my gardening gear. My departed soulmate loved old roses, and every year I still fall in love with them too. It is nothing short of a miracle that creatures so beautiful and fragile thrive this far north.

Once in a while, I catch a glimpse of the Great Mystery while I am hanging out in the back yard, and that is surely what this old life is all about. I wish I did a better job of remembering that and keeping everything in perspective, but forgetting now and then is quite all right - the garden reminds me, especially the roses.

1 comment:

Mystic Meandering said...

Such wonderful writing, Cate... I love your authenticity about how you experience life... and love... My time here is waning too and so are my memory and perspective! LOLOL... Oh well... Such is the nature of time, as you say... And I love your phrase: "the clock of the seasons is ticking." Indeed... Thank you!