Carpe Autumn

There is nothing as magic as an early morning stroll under a bright New England sky in October. The crisp, moist air hangs like golden wisps of smoke, whispering ripe apples and pumpkins. 

Emily Dickinson found the slant of light on winter afternoons to be oppressive, but the hue and angle of the light in autumn is a tonic for the soul.

Yes, you can feel the promise of frost in the damp air and the dew glistening on the grass. One night, very soon, the tomato vines and marigold leaves will turn black. We will pull them up and toss them on the compost pile.  

Though we will sorely miss the freshly picked tomatoes for our salads and homemade salsa, and we will long for the luxury of golden pungent marigolds in vases, but we will not mourn their passing.   We are already thinking of the spring planting. Renewal.

Perhaps it is the knowledge that we only have a few precious weeks to savor the fruits of our cultivation makes us appreciate them more than if we could expect them every day. And invites us to look ahead with hope to the inevitable Spring

We who love the change of seasons welcome Autumn, and in turn, Winter. We do not carp about weather. We celebrate the changes in the skies.  

You will not hear us complaining about the rain or the heat or even the hurricane. We take what comes, knowing that, if there is a god, then it is his will.  Despite our prayers or wishes or puny technology we have no power over weather - we can only try to endure.

You may hear us remark that the lawn is brown or the snow is too deep to go to work.  These are not complaints they are merely observations.  We are Buddhists.  We cannot make the weather happen.  We can only sit and hunker down when the winds blow, and wait for the lovely days.

This is life.  Because the earth is off-kilter, we have seasons.  

As I get older I truly appreciate the seasons. Predictable changes give us a sense of urgency - adding commas and semicolons to our life sentences.  As we see the lifeline getting shorter, we eschew comfort and tedium. We embrace the challenge of slip and skid against our aging bones. Let the winds and seas rage. Let the snow pile high. Let the power lines fail and the toilets freeze. We'll survive.

Or, maybe not.

In our hearts, we know that the temperature of the earth is constant at a depth of six feet. And, lord knows, there will be plenty of time for that.