The autumn equinox has passed, and frost delivers a visual sentence of death to summer. This morning the cattails in our bog were tinged with delicate, crunchy white. By noon all traces of frost were gone, but scars remain. Here and there the icy fingers seized a patch of grass, a cluster of goldenrod, a clump of purple wild aster, or a branch of red osier dogwood. Our herbs are seared and shriveled in their barrel containers.
Late September ushers in the glory days when earth spreads make-up on her face, like an aging woman hiding wrinkles in layers of glossy red. We love the glory days. After weeks of heat, we relish the invigorating chill compelling us to burrow into warm sweaters. Yet we celebrate these illusive moments of fading warmth, those final poignant remnants of a dying year.
~ Margaret Longenecker Been, A Time Under Heaven: Seasonal Reflections and Poems (Margaret is a dear friend and a Hope Blog reader.) Visit her beautiful blog, Northern Reflections.