When Final Days Become First Days

Tags

, , ,

I can see it, a red leaf tucked amongst the swiss chard in the garden, a thinness appearing amongst the overgrowth beyond the pasture, openings in the underbrush of the woods as the green slips away to show the woody brown again.  Fall is coming.  A wooded path way

My favorite season – the colors, the shorter days, the crisp air, the school memories that kick my heart up a bit even now, and the food – all that pumpkin awaiting my palate.

For Philip, fall is sadness, those same school memories not happy ones for him, shorter days mean less time outside, and less time outside means less joy for him.  For his dreams are tied to fresh air and streams and a fishing line.

Mine are wrapped in books and desk and candlelight.  We make a good pair.

So today, we take the boat that Philip saved to buy 10 years ago, and we will lay it into a lake. I will carry my book – Big Stone Gap because it seems a book to read as fall arrives – and whisper in the autumn.  And Philip will toss out a line and hook into the last days of summer. . .

And we will relish the days together.  Each our own person.  Each looped beautifully to each.

Meander takes a swim.

Meander takes a dig in the frog pond by the spring house.

What is your favorite season?  Why do you love it?

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 127 other followers