I am entranced by Autumn’s beautiful death. The dance is beginning here in Maine. I feel it bone deep. The leaves have hints of autumnal color, apples are full grown and ripening in the waning light of the sun, my flower gardens are beginning their gradual descent back into the earth, the crickets sing incessantly, dragonflies circle above in layers of sky as far as my eyes allow me to see, and the cicada vocalizes its long-drawn-out song. I have begun to turn on my favorite quiet-glow lamp before supper, as the evening light through the window is fading sooner. My friend sent me home with a jar of bread and butter pickles she has just put up. One day later the jar is almost empty. My family and I picked handfuls of blueberries along the bay, stuffing our cheeks with bursting inky blue fruit, freezing the rest for enjoyment during long winter. The chimney sweep has visited and our woodstove is ready to go for another season. Wood needs to be stacked; it will be a more pleasurable experience now that the temperatures are dropping. Today we are making our first soup to celebrate this transition; a lentil soup to be paired with homemade French bread my Love made in our outdoor oven. Tomorrow we will rise before the sun comes up for back-to-school. I bought extra strong and dark local coffee beans. I’ll sip slowly in the flower garden after my youngest child boards her bus; bittersweet.
XO