I woke up this morning to a dark house and to the sound that car tires make on the street only when it has been, and still is, raining. I stayed in bed, listening to the sound of the return of a season.
It is no surprise. The angle of the light changed some time ago, and the sun inches its set up a bit each day. I burn bees-wax church candles in the evenings now to extend the light. And last night, Tom and I made plans that are only made when one has accepted the end of summer; we spoke of visiting pumpkin patches and stuffing pumpkins with warm wine-scented fondue.
Summer is leaving me, and with it go balmy nights spent on the porch after dark, vegetables racing to outgrow each other in the garden, picnics, summer vacations, and the heady scent of a cantaloupe ripening on the counter. I’m a bit sad.
Tom staged these photos last week when things seemed to be at their peak. I have a feeling I’m going to savor them.
Posts
