First Fires and Last Flowers

Spiritual

Laundry flaps on drooping lines,
leaves float in gray
October

rain threatens; clouds pile dark
shapes hurry in bundled coats
gathering

dry clothes from line and pin,
pile into wicker baskets;
chill

air turns noses cherry red,
mist turns to driving
sleet

pelts on windows golden
with the warmth of
fire

within the dry safe haven
of small country houses,
braves

the coming frigid cold
and darkness of
November

c2006 Susanna Holstein

Temperatures tonight are going to be in the cool 40's, and tomorrow does not sound like the air is going to warm up much. Fires are glowing in the stove and the fireplace so the house is cozy.

Larry has been dragging in wood, almost all of it trees downed in the high winds last Spring, or trees he cut last year, so the wood is good seasoned stuff that makes for good heat. Nothing is more frustrating than trying to warm a house with green wood.

The flowers bloom valiantly on, but with these cool days they will not be with us long--except for the hardy mums that start blooming when everything else is giving up. And the pineapple sage that drops brilliant red into the garden most unexpectedly in late August-early September. A few roses hang on and one bush has buds that just might make it before frost.

It's okay with me for the summer season to end. I like the turning of the year, although as I get older the changes seem more poignant than when I was younger. Now I pay closer attention to such things.

In August I begin noting the first tinges of yellow in leaves, the ripening of seedheads on grasses and the first falling acorns.

In September I listen for the last whippoorwill call, note the earlier coming of darkness each day, and count jars in the cellar.

In October I will be watching for first the maples, then the poplars and ash and last the oaks to turn fiery red, bold yellow, deep maroon and finally all shades of russet before gray becomes the forest's uniform. First frost will finish the flowers for good and all. I will gather seeds into envelopes and write the names of the flowers and the year of harvest on them so I will not forget them.

By November the days will be very short, dark on rising and dark when I return home in the evening. I will cook more, simply because there will be time for it. I will be on the lookout for the first snowflakes, the first real freeze, and make sure the birdfeeders are full. We will harvest venison and put it by.

December will bring plans for the coming of light again. Candles will flare in the windows and spices will fragrance the air. Fires will burn brightly every day. I will note each day's additional minutes of light after solstice, and we will welcome the new year with fire, friends and festivities.

So the cycle goes, each month bringing new yet familiar rituals. There is no month I can name as my favorite; each gifts us with something worth seeing and having. And each one I celebrate because I am still here to do so, and hope to be here celebrating many more turns of the seasons.