Changing with the seasons

 We have now reached the beginning of my favorite three, maybe four, months of the year. Yes, I celebrate the end of winter when March, or April, or May finally arrives, but that marks an end to bitter cold and snow and ice and suffering and the beginning of mud season which, after a two or three week period, suddenly becomes summer. The transition from summer to autumn, through Thanksgiving those years when we don’t experience a Halloween blizzard, and sometimes up through Christmas, are usually the months when I find most enjoyment.

maple leaves, late August

Photo by J. Harrington

In autumn, the grass has pretty much stopped growing. That eliminates mowing. The by now monotonous green of the countryside picks up colors as chlorophyll fades and yellows, oranges and reds dominate. There’s also the nostalgia of watching summer’s visitors migrate south. Most of the ducks, geese, shorebirds, cranes and swans flock up and fly away before all their food is covered in snow of frozen in ice. A few swans hang around most years and can be found on open water in the lower St. Croix.

The bright colors of pumpkins, squash and apples brighten farm fields, grocery stores and dinner tables. I usually plant a half dozen or so chrysanthemums and a few New England asters to brighten the driveway. Later, Jack O’Lanterns will signal halloween’s arrival. By now I’m sure you get the picture.

It’s going to be interesting this year to see who has how much of what to be thankful for come post election day. Regardless of whether sanity, or lack thereof, prevails, I’m going to focus more on adjusting my attitude and philosophy to be more grateful for the gifts and good things in my life. I’m also going to do more to incorporate transformative changes into my daily life because I’ve accepted, more and more, that “Living well is the best revenge” and no matter how many Democrats win on November 8, I’m still feeling very vengeful toward Republicans and DINOs. We’ll explore what I mean by living well in upcoming postings.

Coming Home at Twilight in Late Summer

by Jane Kenyon

We turned into the drive,
and gravel flew up from the tires
like sparks from a fire. So much
to be done—the unpacking, the mail
and papers…the grass needed mowing….
We climbed stiffly out of the car.
The shut-off engine ticked as it cooled.

And then we noticed the pear tree,
the limbs so heavy with fruit
they nearly touched the ground.
We went out to the meadow; our steps
made black holes in the grass;
and we each took a pear,
and ate, and were grateful.

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