End of Summer

The fog sits off in the distance. The ocean has been eerily still these last few days, making each splash from the jumping salmon amplified; a mocking sound to all the dedicated fly fishermen who are standing on our shore, hoping and hoping…

The garden is mostly filled with renegade parsley and mint. There is one last row of beets trying to pull the weakening heat into their deep red hearts.  Our wood is stacked and ready. 

The summer clothes are mostly all in the basement now, which is probably quite premature, given that I need to throw something in a bag for my trip to St. Lucia next week.

But it just felt like time. Time to start wearing socks and shoes and looking for an extra layer.

But today, though it’s cloudy and still, it feels warm. Our hike this morning confirmed how humid and warm it was…we were all sweating pretty bad by the end of it.

It seems like the last chance before it all shifts. The leaves are just beginning to turn, there’s less colour in the landscape, more branches are thinning and losing their leaves.

Proof again, that everything needs a chance to retreat, regroup and hunker down to save some energy to get ready for the inevitable spring. We’re getting very close to the time to start the cocooning.

Time to bring the crock pot from the back of the cupboard and place it front and center so we can begin the soups and stews.  Time to start baking bread too. 

As much as I problog about the end of summer, I like the whole process of all these transititions; the getting ready and the entering into each season’s necessary adjustments.  Once again, every single thing in life is just a metaphor for something else. 

You knew I’d get back to the subject of writing somehow right? But isn’t it? These processes in the seasons are metaphors for the writing process.

I’ll leave it at that.