|A sign of the times ... and a summer|
memory of Sandpoint, ID.
"To everything there is a season …"
So says the Book of Ecclesiastes, and so sang Pete Seeger, and later the Byrds. ("Turn, turn, turn ...")
I'm hearing that song in my head today, the first full day of fall. Summer took its bow at 4:44 p.m. yesterday, allowing autumn to move center stage.
I love living in a place where the seasons truly change. Winter, spring, summer, fall. In Philadelphia, all have their beauties, and their annoyances. And the transitions always leave me feeling wistful.
(Another song playing in my head is Don Henley's "Boys of Summer" … "Empty lake, empty streets, the sun goes down alone." Like I said, wistful.)
So. Will I miss summer's 90-degree days with pea-soup humidity? Not so much.
But I will miss the songs of crickets in the night.
And though I just said I won't miss the excessive heat, I will miss the gift that heat gives in my dance class, where we can stretch longer and deeper because of it.
I will miss living in flip-flops, and the pops of color visible on free-ranging toes.
I will miss the ever-changing rainbow of flowers appearing in my neighbors' gardens.
I already miss the light. The sun may not always go down alone, but it sure goes down earlier.
I think the universe understands we need to ease into all these changes. I suspect that's why we're treated to the firework of fall leaves before the winter unpacks its more subdued palette.
Goodbye, summer, and welcome, fall.
Winter? Please wait your turn.