I know for many that rings true of Christmas/New Year, but not so in my heart. The easy contentment and richness of August to September to October, ah yes... The light alters. Every living thing bows and curtsies with respect and appreciation. The fields mature. The breezes and crickets sing oh-so-slightly-differently. The very last sigh of summer will be audible as she relinquishes her domain to Fall. For me, this cusp of August to September holds the true deep magic within the march of the twelve months. This is where and when the moments of reflection and evaluation occur for me.....
Summer is serious. Speaking ever and always of what must be done. Plan! Do! Grow! Tend! Weed! Move! Move! Move! Paint! Plan! Back-up Plan! Water! Open Windows! Calculate! Close Windows! Progress Progress PROGRESS! "You Can Rest Come Fall" summer chants to me. Winter is hard and harsh in spirit it seems. The line twixt life and ever-sleep is far too thin for my liking. Life and limb require 'ner ending vigilant attention. Spring is jubilant, yet immature, obsessed, unruly. I love her well. But she stands upon the second rung of my heart...
Because these few weeks whilst sweet August ends and September is new ~ Ah, this is the hum of the universe for me. The plateau I rest upon as I survey my year. My heart. My dreams and clever or ill fated schemes. This time which is neither Summer nor Fall holds the earned and gifted moments of easy fulfilled contemplative transition.
Repair sail, reset compass, reprovision. Dream.
2 comments:
You have captured my sentiments of September. (much more eloquent than I could have). I woke up this morning, knowing it was September and I felt a fresh start.
Autumn always used to be my favourite time of the year, for its atmosphere. As I get older though, it is spring I look forward to. Perhaps it is living in a cold house and having not enough money to heat it adequately. Autumn this year is sad, because we never had a real summer and we could all do with an Indian summer to cheer us up before the grim grey (wet!) days arrive. . .
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