There’s a chill in the air and a light frost on the sunflowers. Summer is over, and it’s not hard to imagine that the cold autumn rain might soon turn to snow.
Fall used to be my favorite season. I loved the crisp air, the changing of the leaves, the promise of pumpkin pie. Because it coincides with the start of the school year, I’d always associated fall with new beginnings. A fresh new notebook and new shoes could conquer the world.
Lately, though, fall has been about endings. The garden is dying, the days are growing shorter, and the end of my life is probably closer, now, than the beginning. The sand in the hourglass seems to fall more quickly without the mass of other grains to hold it back.
The only way to slow it down is to savor it as it’s happening, to linger over every detail as I try to commit it to memory. Here is the dog’s cold nose in my face, saying good morning. Here is the touch of my beloved’s hand, lingering on my face as we pause, a thousand years of partnership conveyed in our gaze.
My brain wants more time, but it seems that my body is actively working against me. The down comforter is so warm. Do I have to get up already? It’s so dark…can’t we go to bed now? It’s so cold. Can’t I just sit here, doing nothing but eating more pie?
There is still so much to do in the yard before the snow comes. But I am a fat and happy bear, and hibernation is around the corner.
Fast, slow, fast, slower.
A burst of energy in the bright sunlight of midday and I’ve rearranged part of the shed. The chill air of the harvest moon and I’ve inhaled four cookies and a piece of cake.
There is still so much to do with my life before the end comes. But I am a fat and happy bear, and hibernation is around the corner.
Fast, slow, fast, slower.
