Early this evening, I am sitting by the old Maple, that will be cut down and trucked away tomorrow morning.
I rise to standing, peering out over the conservation fields, and there is the vibrant large Doe down the hill - gazing back at me. For just a moment. And then she leans down, to feed, confidently, once again. For, we've known each other. Since she was a small one, early this spring.
My mind is on beginnings; and endings. First loves and last dances. I turn to look at all the growing things around me. Many of whom will fall asleep, once a killing frost finally arrives.
And the garden? Abuzz with unbelievable insect activity? Will fall asleep also. Regenerating. Some of the insects and creatures also.
Save the annuals, and other living things , which have had their time- and now come to an end. Leaving seeds and eggs behind, for yet another go around.
As I walk back inside, I hear the small babe next-door, fitful and crying ,as they are carried about by their loving and tired parents.
Both my pup and I hear the first call of the Coy-wolves outside, a sign that they too are cognizant of the seasonal shift, and are making their way closer to farms and humans , to relocate to a winter home.
Today brought the first cool morning. Windows closed the night before against the chill night air, as this morning I ferret out my favorite old polar fleece sweater, and pull it on, to bring the dogs outside.
I know so many who were here a year ago, and are here no longer. And this only prompts me to sit up and take note of the preciousness of this moment.
To settle deeply into my time here, while I wash dishes, configure bills, or write another chapter in the novel.
I pick up my husband and turn to really look into his hazel eyes, with sheer delight and laughter, of this very moment.
When a friend invites me on a walk with her multitude of dogs, I push myself to walk further, in the beautiful forest, and we both stand and watch as the dogs romp back and forth along a pond, leaping in with such abandon .
Another friend calls and comes by in my quiet life, both of us with grey hair growing insolently down our backs.
We sit in the kitchen, sipping water, and at times have tears in our eyes, and grasp each other's hands.
Talking of today and yesterday. Of simply being, and of the choice to be in the space between ourselves, and our fears. Because in that space, there is no fear.
And then, darkness falls. Somewhere behind the clouds the small moon shines. All of the four footed creatures in the house lay fast asleep. The babe next door has finally tired themselves out, and everyone there is deep in slumber.
I stand outside, in my nightgown, my eyes upon the darkened sky, feeling the mid August dew descending upon all things, seeing the lofty tops of the glorious Maple that will be gone tomorrow;
I am remembering standing in this very same place last winter, gazing at every tree in this neighborhood. Thinking of the torpid chipmunks and toads and snakes; the hibernating bears, some pregnant, who will give birth while hibernating. All of it all of it with us; within us. The experiences. The knowing. The remembering. The stardust and dinosaur pieces; in the midst of the striations of The Maple. In the midst of the cells in my iris - watching my breath in the frigid winter night , then too , slowly letting go of one thing after another , from the long rich day.
