The wind has changed here. It’s dry and cool, and summer’s humidity has evaporated. The sunshine has taken on an unmistakeable, late summer golden hue, and while temperatures can reach 80, it’s a cool 80. The days are just a bit shorter and there’s a little bite to the evening air. Summer is ending.
It sometimes seems that when things draw to an end, they reach their full magnificence. By the end of August, the cicadas and crickets practically shout, the grasses and plants have reached their full maturity; their roots reach deeply into the soil. They stand strong in the world they have created, if only to die with the first frost, never to be seen again. They leave their mark though, these plants, they crumple into the dirt and break down to nourish those plants that follow. They had their time here, and so will those that follow.
It is the knowledge that this summer must end that makes this time of year so truly spectacular for me. I can’t quite bring myself to go inside. The evenings are touched with magic. Last night as the sun went down I sat on the front steps with my children and listened to them talk and laugh, in anticipation of the school year ahead. My heart felt like it would burst. Summer goes out in a blaze of glory. The golden haze of warmth and sunshine, and the chill in the breeze, bring certain knowledge that all things must end.
Like the last bite of chocolate cake, I look down at my plate and wish there were more. But in the search I realize, I’m only looking for more because I know there isn’t any. So as the plate dwindles, and sun sets earlier and earlier, what is there left to do, but simply savor and cherish.
It’s hard to do that some days–lately my anger has risen up in me like a hurricane. I am furious. About every awful, cruel, heartless thing that has happened to me in the last four years. I am furious that people can do cruel and heartless things, treat each other with wanton unkindness, and think nothing of it. Lately, the cruelty of people has worn a hole through me, and I am trying to repair it–Though why the responsibility of repair lies on the one who has been hurt rather than on the one who caused it is something that further enrages me. Sometimes this train travels right off the tracks and I fall into a pit of sadness and anger that I can’t seem to pull myself out of.
But then I sit on the front steps with the setting sun and I realize that this too shall pass. I will pass. It all will pass. And life becomes sweet once again.