I felt it yesterday on the soccer field, in jeans and long sleeves, reading the Fall issue of Urban Farm magazine, coffee in hand. Our days of summer are numbered here. Autumn is fast approaching.
There is so much to do.
Harvest, put away, freeze, can the tomatoes, the herbs, the squash and zucchini.
Soccer practice for the older boys (4 times a week) begins again. Carpool.
Fall planting of greens and garlic to get in the ground.
New shoes for everyone.
School clothes to buy.
Not unlike little squirrels with their mouths full of nuts, preparing for the winter.
Hurry, enjoy, savor, soak it all in! The light, the warmth, the relaxed schedule. Live in it, right now!
Just a few weeks ago, as the late afternoon sun would come barreling in through the back windows, I closed the blinds to it. It was too hot...too strong...too much.
But now I find myself wanting to bask in the much softer, longer streams of light that filter in. Mabel seems to have it right.
We've been watching the animals and their cues that Autumn is approaching. The wooly bear caterpillars, the bees, the squirrels, they all know its coming.
But somehow they continue on about their work with effortless ease. They've picked up their pace indeed. But they are not crazy running around to find yellow sharpie hilighters and the correct size of Ball jars.
Somehow they seem to almost enjoy the readying for Fall.
So I listen to what the kings and queens of the nature world are trying to tell me. I come in close so that I don't miss a thing.
They seem to say, "Drink the late summer warmth in by the gallons, lay in it, roll around in it so that it covers your entire being. It is good for you. Good for your soul. This warmth is meant to carry you through the darker days to come. "
I love Mary Oliver's poem, Song for Autumn
In the deep fall
don't you imagine the leaves think how
comfortable it will be to touch
the earth instead of the
nothingness of air and the endless
freshets of wind? And don't you think
the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,
warm caves, begin to think
of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep
inside their bodies? And don't you hear
the goldenrod whispering goodbye,
the everlasting being crowned with the first
tuffets of snow? The pond
vanishes, and the white field over which
the fox runs so quickly brings out
its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its
bellows. And at evening especially,
the piled firewood shifts a little,
longing to be on its way.
- - - - - -
Yes, this morning as windows are open and coffee cools a little sooner, I am feeling our days of summer are numbered.
Squirrels have their nuts to gather...I'm obviously collecting muckboots.