8.24.14 Do you ever wake on a day such as this- end of August, dew thick early morning, everything thundering toward fruition - and think of other years at this time, in your life?

Do you ever wake on a day such as this- end of August, dew thick early morning, everything thundering toward fruition - and think of other years at this time, in your life? 



I have this impulse every single morning to go out...out..
Which is helped by always forever having dogs, who must of course, go out.
As a child, in a family of 7, it was all we wanted to do. Inside was not a very good place, and outside was. It simply was like that. So, whatever the weather, as soon as our responsibilities were taken care of (or escaped), out we would launch, into the woods where we lived, and the swamp or the Pine Forest, or the long aged forest trails, that felt, as a child, so mysterious and compelling, with an exciting edge of danger. As in, do we really know where we are? Do we still know how to get back? 


Especially if you were by yourself, and, say, 6...or 8. But now I know that so many of us heard the trees applauding us and us alone. So many heart the trees singing as the wind swept through Beach leaves in summer, a soft song; or Beach leaves in winter- crisp, tight. Pine Needles in any season- swishing and tender. Oak leaves in winter- a quiet raspy song.



I was an odd child, in that, when a heavy snow came, I would get dressed up warmly, and then race out, and try to shake the snow off of every burdened tree and branch. In the forest. Not possible. Not even necessary. But I had no idea.
I would bring chewing gum into the forest to repair a permanently bent over small tree, and it did grow up, flourishing, with that gum stuck to it's cracked place. 

                                                                                We would make families with sticks and houses in the mosses, marking out each of our bedrooms and where the kitchen was, and have mint leaves for our meals, and reen or blue berries, the green which would make our faces twist til we were hysterical, and then leave us sitting on the toilet, forever.reen or blue berries, the green which would make our faces twist til we were hysterical, and then leave us sitting on the toilet, forever.

At this time of year, so many prepare for the coming fall. Fall in some places not looking or feeling much different than right now. Or for our friends in Australia, the flip side of each of our seasons.
But for many of us, today, vacations slide to a close. The luxury of late light days and early light days is on a time limited budget. And the magnificence of our farms and gardens and produce and CSA's is spectacular. 
                                   

Or the fourth year. Or the freshman year in high school. Possibly began college.
One day in the past, you were a child and slid your shoes about in the wet morning, and they stayed that way, socks too, while you waited for a school bus or walked a short or long way. And dealt with other kids. Teachers. Learning. Social étiquette .

Already, my Sassafras neighbor is quietly shedding an errant bright orange leaf, slowly dropping it down down to the dew soaked ground beneath, as I walk by this morning, wandering about, taking it all in.My feet slip and slide in the flip flops that soon will be relegated to the closet, and soon will be time to pull down storm windows and shuffle round to find those things called ...socks. More layers of clothes. More blankets.
Already, the cats and dogs sense the small change, and begin the tradition of putting aside tiffs and personality entanglements, and cuddling up to one another. Warmth trumps crankiness.One day long ago you woke, soon enough to this, and began noticing the feel of more clothing tucked upon your person. One day long ago you began noticing the chill on your small bare feet as you crept out of bed and wandered down the hall. One day long ago you woke and dressed and , with butterflies filling your stomach and the perilous unknown filling your heart, went to school for the first time.          Last year, you woke on August 24th and there was your life. Waiting for you. Rubbing your eyes, catching sight of your bedroom, your circumstances, your disappointments and your hopes for the day. For the year. All your choices, woven into the tapestry that is you, with circumstance as the thread, sewing together the gifts you were born with, the harm you encountered, and whatever tenacity you managed to create, on your own.

Today you wake on August 24th, and laid out before you is your life in process. You rise out of bed, wander to the bathroom, glancing about you in that hazy, early morning way, whether you are a 'shot out of bed' person , or a 'don't speak to me until I've had my coffee'.
And here we are, approaching the cusp of yet one more September, introspective at times; and at times, filled with what must needs be done, in whatever manner that strikes you.
Here, I watch the spiders preparing ever greater intricate webs, that now are illuminated for the first time all season, by the dew. For these webs must catch more, and the spider shall welcome a mate who somehow knows she is there, and carefully create out of her food and her body and her mate the remarkable egg sacks that will hold her young, for whom she feels fierce protectiveness. She even protects neighbor's young, as the grown Katydids wander the windows of my house, marauding the spider's egg sacks, until, each year, some spider catches that irksome creature, far larger than they, and traps them in a sticky web. And then that, is the end of that.

I feel the dampness in the air as soon as I stir, as soon as the light graces the windows and spreads through the room like a siren call.
And here you will be, today, remembering the past, anticipating the future, and then, I hope, besotted with whatever your day holds for you.