August 15th 2011 Tim Candler
There is in the air an
idea of change. I remember feeling frozen while crickets sang, but
that's not until the last fruit ripens, after early frost. First
to go are often Marigolds, then Tomato vines.
The rule for me is to enter decline.
I see a future were Spring is too far away, and I hear the strange
voices that worship Autumn. Cool crisp air they'll call it, but I
have usually seen socks and boots and blue fingers.
Not that long ago, when a
person got off an airplane they'd climb down stairs to walk across the
tarmac. It was a chance to smell the land and wonder at it. Sometimes
it was cold with ice and sometimes it was warm like a welcome steam bath.
Begin to think I might be at home in the idea
of Autumn. Or Fall as I will call it..