It’s the middle of August and I uttered the forbidden word yesterday: fall. As in “I feel a tinge of fall in the air”. It’s true. Though the day was warm and sunny, as I walked the path toward my garden plot I felt a bit of something that whispered of days ahead.
It’s been such a strange summer. I know, I’ve said it before. I’ve wrestled in my mind about seasons. I’ve read, and written, and enjoyed a good measure of silence and solitude. I’ve tended my garden, though given it not as much care as I like. Now, I’m in full-on canning mode, and trying to get ahead of things before our granddaughter arrives for two weeks of Camp G and G.
My posts have been sporadic here. Fits and starts. I’ve poured most of my words over the past couple of months into my book manuscript but I’ve missed spending time in this space every morning.
I’ve wanted to tell you about some beautiful and terrible things, and how one afternoon I saw a man carrying a briefcase and wearing a pinstripe linen suit and a boater hat cross the street looking for all the world like Gatsby. And how later that same day, when I was stopped at a red light, I saw a Batmobile drive by. I’ve wanted to tell you about leaning in and listening, and how that sweetness sustains me even as I’m starved for a long stretch of ordinary.
So, yes, there’s a tinge and I’m busy and anticipating and getting things done, and I’m trying my darndest to stay present in every moment. And truth? I’m looking forward to September. Shhh.