i’ve a resident cricket outside my window. this I only conclude as it’s been several days and his chirping is persistent and sincere. i’ve admittedly tried to knock on the window and the wall to rouse him, but to no avail. the most curious fact is that his chirps are slowing. slowing their tempo and separating from the chorus. it is officially fall now and he knows it.
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What fascinates me this time of year is the sky. It almost seems that as soon as the temperatures begin to fade that the sky transforms into the bluest ocean it’s ever been. The haze from the heat and smoke from the fires retreat and clarity is abundant. The nights are bold and clear, and the stars hang low and plentiful. The wind is just a breeze right now (no sooner to become the roar of winter), and it caresses our cheeks on strolls and jaunts. It is the altogether brisk feeling that accompanies this season that lightens my heart effortlessly. the land is ready for slumber, and the clarity that reckons this event is all-encompassing and strong.
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There was a doubtless sincerity to the blue wash of the sky today – accented gently with sable, badger, hog-hair clouds; wisps of the mother’s eternal paintbrush. Today the wind smoothly outfitted the valleys and roads where no hills jutted, and in town it coyly began to disturb the branches of the trees. I could see leaves quivering in question today – to jump or not to jump: this is the autumn’s measured arrival. It’s a passive and quiet entrance, allowing the summer to dissolve in patience and respect. She is the great season of heat and growth – for months we were able to feast within the cozy of her womb. She enabled us, helped us germinate, allowed us to propagate, and in unity we flourished. Any hastiness we exhibited she automatically humbled.
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