I must admit that I do feel a fleeting sparkler of light with the coming of orange pumpkins and St. Martin's lanterns.

Quiet. The stillness and quiet of change is in the air — the bittersweet melancholy of saying goodbye to summer. Summer in its mythical presence and its realities — change is upon us.

Abandon, lazy hot days, childhood, hours that last forever, sun on your skin, the warm bronze (forbidden) color that comes from a day on the beach. Ah-Ah! Ripe tomatoes and feta swimming in olive oil and salt. Floating, disappearing right before our eyes! The occasional red or yellow leaf takes its bold step forward announcing without question that we must pay attention!

Bring in the wood — change the windowpanes.

As I sit writing on the porch the cicadas scream louder and louder — confirming my words. They are singers for their lives.

Autumn dew and mist come shy yet deliberate — covering everything with a blanket at dawn.

And the necessary sweater appears in the early morning until the sun soars upward to hit the 80’s.

I am wistfully looking over my shoulder at the still lakes and the cold river — as I wind my way through country roads. They have lost their grip on me… just weeks earlier they were like Odysseus’s Sirens — I couldn’t possibly resist the plunge or the short swim by bathing suit and towel resting happily on the back seat — a quick change makes a cluster of trees.

Into the Green River — only to pop out as a different person. Refreshed cool skin, clear eyes — always a dramatic shift… Ah. But now — when I catch sight of the sparkling water — it’s like seeing an old dear friend who has moved far away. The urgency to connect has been replaced by a nostalgic fondness.

We have passed the end tip of August and have tilted into September. In the midst of Bounty upon Bounty we are still wrapped up in Summer’s golden arms.

But! We are not deceived… those of us who have seen and felt the wheel of time turning. Yes! The promise of another summer is guaranteed, but we are just slightly consoled.

I must admit that I do feel a fleeting sparkler of light with the coming of orange pumpkins and St. Martin’s lanterns.

But shouldn’t I be a lot better at this? Bidding farewell? Well yes, but… When I remember that we are “of nature,” we belong to the earth as well as to the Spirit — that helps to give way, even welcome the melancholy of watching so much glory fade.

Quiet has plopped down in the middle of this late August morning, amid the bouquet of color, fragrance, harvest.

Rest. It will soon be time to rest — ourselves and the earth. We go inward.

Now that doesn’t sound so bad? And that bittersweet melancholy…

I actually wouldn’t miss it for the world.

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Neave Trio – Violin, Cello, Piano

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Golden Leaf Rag Time Blues

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