Friday, September 4, 2009
Winged Sumac - Lin Frye
I go for my evening walk; the day has cooled, and the fresh air caresses my arms and face. Though the crickets and tree frogs have begun their night song, it is so very, very still that the crunch my feet make on the fallen sycamore leaves seems almost sacrilegious, and I move to the grass to stifle even that small bit of sound.
The kitties walk with me only to the driveway, and they turn back when they realize C isn’t walking with me tonight. Slackers! LOL
I turn a curve in the road and startle the deer feeding on the grapes I hope to collect for jelly. They scamper into the woods, and I walk to the end of the road to watch the sun’s slow decent.
It’s utterly peaceful. Still. The earth is making its slow turn toward winter. We are on the cusp of fall, and all around me, signs of the season are growing with the length of the night.
Today, the kitties are one year old. A year ago I watched Boots bring them into the world – five little fluffballs, blind, helpless, adorable. Today, they are ‘into their own’ with personalities and antics that keep me in laughter.
A single branch of this winged sumac is in bright autumn color. The red/brown seeds are already dried; but if I had collected them a few weeks ago, the tiny hairs on the seeds would have produced a lemony drink - really very refreshing. I'm too late to collect these seeds, but there are others.
With each day there are signs that remind us of time’s passing. Of all the seasons, I think I love fall the best. It’s a time to gather in the harvest of summer’s hard work. It’s not quite time to rest, but certainly, it’s a time to begin to slow down. It’s not quite time for coats and mittens and fires in the fireplace, but there are hints of those times to come.
For now, it’s enough to simple begin to slow down. And gather in. And reflect.