Today the first of Autumn?
Time surely must be on a race.
Summer was my friend yesterday; now she turns her face.
I want her to come back and dance on September's golden lawn, just a few more times, before my heart gives way to dark November.
Turn around please Summer. Pause, at the gate. Murmur to me in your warm, lanquid tones. Kiss me. Embrace me. Please, just a little while, before you go.
I realized I loved you, too late.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
It seems like the out of doors is slathered with gold right now. I enjoy the chirps and chatter of the family of goldfinch that harvest seeds from our stand of sunflowers. In the picture an adult bird is feeding a young one. To catch that picture I had to stand still and pretend like I was a sunflower stalk until the goldfinch believed me. When they get their bellies full they all gather together and I wonder what they are conversing so excitedly about before they fly off over the spruce trees and out of our yard. Watching them fly away I often wish I could turn my family and myself into goldfinch and flutter off with them. Oh to have such a life of freedom in the sun.
The goldfinch and the sunflowers are not my only gold. God dropped gold all over the field across the road and it has me perplexed why nobody is noticing. I would think passer-bys would be pulling their cars over and going into the field to check it out but nobody seems to see it. I guess it is all mine this gold in the tassels of grass that have turned to grain. When the sun slants across the field and makes these grains of grass glow I swear it is as good as real gold. No, better, for the gold of the grass is alive. So too the gold of the corn tassels, the goldenrod sprays and the field of soybean plants in a distant field. Grandson’s favorite gold raspberries are bearing heavily now and the honey that we are pouring from the honey tank into jars is our liquid gold. According to the consensus at the last bee meeting this has been the lowest honey harvest ever remembered so we are cherishing every droplet. The hops plants that have scrambled up the sassafras tree are drooping nuggets of gold and are just waiting to be plucked. There may be riches of other kinds but if I had my pick, I would choose these kinds of gold over any other.