It seems like just when I find, feel, and understand summer’s rhythm, it’s almost over.
I’ve only just gone camera-roaming around the Portsmouth, New Hampshire waterfront – on my list all summer – and I still need to fly kites on the beach, climb Mt. Major, and read all the books stacked on the nightstand next to my bed.
Press pause. Someone. Please.
Just a week or so ago we gathered blueberries, and now the first peaches sit tiered and proud in the produce section of Hannaford’s Supermarket. And when did acorns so suddenly appear all over our road? When did the petunias in the pot out front grow so leggy and sparse?
Seems a little like summer’s packing her beach bag and headed to the Mall for some back-to-school shopping.
Sitting here on the porch I see August’s parched the lawns a little and the leaves look dull. There’s an autumn smell in the air I swear wasn’t there yesterday, nights are cooling, and I’m not quite ready. I only just last week relaxed and put my September-to-June stress to the curb with the old air-conditioning unit we cleared out of the basement.
But holding on too hard to summer means a bit of fall drops by the wayside. What if I miss the ripening of apples because I’m still mourning the strawberries? How will I revel in the final flowering glory of mums if I’m missing the daylillies, daisies, and black-eyed susans?
Any change takes a little living in before I fit in and feel comfortable. And I know fall’s out there for the finding if I care to look for the geese headed south, smell an evening campfire, or feel summer wave goodbye in the breeze.
So I’m transitioning. Head up. Eyes open. Invited to be present.
And I’ve responded: Here for both the farewell party and the welcome home.