8.21.14 Back into the home and heart of hearth, as we slowly walk together into fall.

We are all so similar, we human beings, on earth. Ages and developmental stages throughout our lives; challenges and the loveliness of certain experiences.

Oh, we have our assertions. Our disagreements. Our vociferous passions and ideas.

I sit out, tonight, like so many are over the earth- on porches and back yards and stoops and boardwalks and town squares. Looking at the landscape spread before me, feeling easily like Le Petit Prince.
How was it so easy to underestimate the parable of that and so many other stories, in our education?
All they seem to do is come back, now - like the refrain of a long life song, over and over, as the lessons match the similarity to one life event after another.

Next-door, there are visitors, and a meeting about the nursery opening again. Babies and infants and small small people. I bring some things by, and adults and children are having tiny cupcakes and dinner and wine, babies being held and nursed, smaller and larger ones running around in and out side, playing and laughing. Being loved and happy and young.
Shiva Louisa Latrine has been having more and more problems breathing-congestive heart issues. But the sweet old dog is 16 1/2, so it stands to reason.
I do what I can with homeopathic's for both pain and heart, supplements for inflammation and heart. Applying compresses to her blind old eyes. Working down her spine and along her arthritic arms and legs, oiling them with Gwen's Magic Oil.
Often, I wake in the night to hear her accelerated breathing. I switch on the air conditioner for her, and bundle the rest of us up, to allay her heat.
Or I sit up, awakened by her, and see Kevin's arm slung around her, softly.

Today I put her in the car, which is not comfortable, and drove to the Mount Holyoke College pond. Lifted her out, put her on a leash , which she disdains, and let her walk where she would.
And there was the Gander, of course. Crossing the road toward the pond.
One woman with a large poodle said, irritably, that he'd been gone for three days, and she's been glad. That he does not like her.
I turned to her and replied "He's the protector. He doesn't hurt anyone. It's just his job.'
She turned her face quickly away; said "Oh , you're probably right ; beautiful old bird."

As Shiva snuffled and led me here and there ,along the edges of the pond, relishing the smells, given the chance to be somewhere different than our yard, or our bed.

In the meantime, September is moving along toward us. The forest thickets are grown up, and sitting outside tonight, in the distance, the yipping of the Coywolves continues on and on: possibly a meeting- as their evening calls come closer every evening.

The yellow finches arrived in droves today, descending upon the seeds of the hyssop, which are finished blossoming, and having been set upon happily by all the winged things.
Finally today, down by the eagle sanctuary, there was one Monarch. The only one I have seen all summer for some reason. I say a small prayer for all of them, and our environment. 

And yet, last night, while Kevin and I sat on the sofa holding hands and talking, out the window was such a flurry of bats as I have ever seen, which made me glad in my heart, that they are doing well enough, despite humans and our garbage.

The dusk sky stretches above me, and far off into the distance of Leverett, a deep baby blue, with small undulations, that feels so much like a soft blanket to settle down upon everything.
For some reason, the swallows are not here now. I wonder if, as the chickadees and the morning doves and the finches move into town, the swallows and others are moving out. Everyone on their way, young ones in tow, down toward warmer climates.

The damselflies are to bed early tonight also, possibly the humidity? So that the crickets take the primary place of the orchestra, spread all the way across the conservation field and hill, leading down to the outwaters and the Connecticut River, with the co stand staccato of the distant yipping.
The father next door walks behind the cottage, carefully lifting his beautiful beloved canoe, and places it up on his car. Sneaking away, to visit the Connecticut, and I can just imagine him, life jacket on, children left behind, slipping the oars silently into one side and then the other, of his small sleek craft.watching the colors change and the cool evening air come amongst all things.
Soon? The crickets will fall fast asleep for the night. Quietly heading under the leaves and plants ,to avoid the late summer heavy dew- that will spread over the land during the night.

And the cicadas? Will awaken in all of the trees, and begin calling and calling and singing and carousing as they do.

Slowly, tomorrow, I will prepare the clay holders and go outside to wipe the house plants, and then persuade their insect inhabitants to gently leave, so that I can gradually situate them all indoors; into the relative darkness but safety of the home, away from delicious cleansing summer rains and vibrant warm winds. 

Back into the home and heart of hearth, as we slowly walk together into fall.