September's Seasonal Shift

A quick glance at my desk calendar reveals two incontrovertible facts; (1) the month of August is still visible through the countless papers lined up on my desk like an organized disaster of priority awaiting completion and (2) the summer twilight is creeping closer and closer to an end. Some would be sad at this moment; the moment of summer’s grand finale and prelude to autumn’s whimsical kiss. I am not one on them. Conversely, I am passionate in regards to the returning seasonal shift and growing more and more introspective as days pass.




I am invigorated with images of temporarily suspended leaves and burning fragrances of yesterday’s blooms. I smile as farmers pass with their harvests uniquely stacked on wooden wagons swaying gingerly as they travel the back roads to market. I live for these days and burst with energy as I fast-forward through the heat and humidity of summer and prematurely welcome my beloved autumn in all her glory.




The air is cooler today enveloping a twinge of aridity and nostalgia. I digress over a season passed, a year forlorn, and a winter’s impending doom. A break in rushed routine and rest from summer ritual help stir the cauldron of life’s yearly stew and harkens me to a time of perpetual sunsets. The death of daylight yields to night’s blackening call earlier and earlier until night and day are synonymously the same.




It is a time of reckoning; a seasonal battle only the winter can win with autumn standing as the lonely compromise. I wait, every year, for this compromise and with its approach; I lay down my sword of scorn and reach for the safety of the season.




My love for autumn is unshared by all but unmistakably beautiful in the landscapes painted by the hand of Mother Nature. Her brilliant oranges, reds, yellows, and browns stain the horizon with the reminder of summer’s lost splendor and winter’s formidable call. The call, the formidable call of the wild, is the winter wind whipping a once resilient and temperate existence with earthen hibernation and decline. But for now I revel in a gentle glimpse of what will come and what will pass in due time.




For what we love is ours but for a mere moment in time; a progression of life ending with an internment of death. Regardless of life’s cruel cycle of events, I bask in the autumn glow like a scarecrow of everlasting exhilaration awaiting my next visitor, hay-filled arm extended, perch in full view, ready to relax and watch the season unfold. Just a thought!