Each of us is, I believe, inclined more favorably toward one of our four seasons. The Kitten is a summer person--her youth here on the Eastern Shore was one of water sports, sailing, crabbing, fishing--all sorts of summer merriment. In her 20's, she spent most summers in the Caribbean teaching sailing, and to this day, she gets giddy at summer's approach and laments its departure.
On the other hand, I am a fall person. My fondest memories of childhood--to the extent that I have such things--are gauzy recollections of a little nip in the air, school starting again, the bus-stop in the morning, a brisk Saturday high school football game, the sound of Keith Jackson's voice calling a college game. I am drawn to the colors of autumn and I am energized by the changing of the leaves. My move here to Easton a few years ago brought with it the sounds of the annual migration of waterfowl, as the spot where my bed now sits is 69 feet from a protected cove favored by traveling geese and ducks. The Kitten barely hears the geese these days, not from some auditory issue; rather, I think she's simply "over" it having lived here so long. Not me. The first sounds of the geese--which I heard two nights ago--are a signal to me that the long, hot, summer is over--and that great things are just around the corner. They are loud--very loud, and the noise is a stark discontinuity to the general quiet that prevails here. But it is a noise I adore, and look forward to more winged transients.
The Weather Channel tells me that 90 degree temperatures await me tomorrow, but I know such things are simply the dying gasps of a season whose days are numbered. Soon, the cove will be covered with migrating birds so thick you could walk across them as stepping stones, were they to accommodate you. The sorghum will be harvested in our fields, which will be thick with resident deer who will pick over the leavings of the harvest. I will rise in the dark and I soon will eat dinner in the dark--both of which are ok with me.
You can keep summer.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
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6 comments:
Autumn/Fall is my favorite time of the year. I couldn't live in a place where there wasn't a little nip in the air come autumn.
If I knew I had but a short time left to live, I would struggle with all my might to see one more harvest moon, then filled with the utmost peace, succumb.
Perfectly put, Mudge.
When Muffy and I aren't doing volunteer work on a Fall Saturday, we find nothing more splendid than a polo match. Load up the Volvo, tie a sweater around the neck and catch a chucker or two.
Your prose never fails to bring a tear to my eye.
Lovely.
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