Junkyardfiction
09-28-2010, 21:18
Fall has made the world sharp—like stinging nettle to the bone. It enters so quietly we almost don’t notice—the leaves descending one by one, the temperature dropping so slightly over days, as if fall sneaks in through the back door, and leaves it a-jar for summer to sneak out.
But there is a certain day when I know it’s here. Today was that day. I woke with a slight chill and had gone to sleep with two blankets instead of one—the musty smell of the linen closet clinging to the quilt, stuck in my nose.
When fall comes, it feels like I’m waking up for the first time in months, as the summer has made me sluggish in the heat. I soaked summer in as her rain soaked into the mud churned up in the yard. Now I am caught in a tumble, small pieces of my spirit floating through the chilled air. There is a certain dampness here today.
Fall has pricked my finger, drawing crimson as it turns the leaves the most brilliant colors they will showcase in their fragile lifetimes before being crushed under-foot by hunters entering the holy ground—by deer hooves as they forage for acorns. We are now at death’s door, trees turning into skeletons, snakes returning to their rocky hibernation cracks and crevices, a grey stillness in the waters. It is time for evening fires. There is not much that feels better than splitting wood in October.
I have been gathering Hickory nuts in the yard, listening to the sure thud they make when bouncing off the roof, cracking a few open after dinner, picking out the delicate meat. Now is as ‘bout a perfect time as any to get outdoors. Children love the fall—who can resist a leaf pile? They kick up their heels as they run, a new-found energy dancing within them. So let’s dance, too, shall we? Why not embrace the fall like children do? Why not play in that leaf pile?
Fall is a symphony. It is nature’s choir, expending that last bit of energy before the long winter sleep—before the big-finish. Listen, and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Listen, nature is in such good voice these crisp days. The chatter of the squirrels felling the last tree nuts, the birds calling to one another in the dusky sunset, the crunch of leaves doing their job—returning to the earth, composting the ground for the spring. The crops will soon all be in, the harvest complete. Shotguns will be loaded, bows set-up and ready for hunting season.
Fall is the best time to breathe. Take the time to breathe this fresh air, and become aware you are breathing—nature is now telling us we’re still alive and kicking. Let the air sting a little, inhale a little deeper to catch her smell. You can smell dirt best in the fall, so let’s draw-in the drying-out of summer, and hold the fall in our lungs for a moment—its sweetness, Mother Nature’s death rattle will be over before we know it; let us listen and breathe, listen and breathe.
http://i696.photobucket.com/albums/vv322/junkyardfiction/IMG_5333.jpg
But there is a certain day when I know it’s here. Today was that day. I woke with a slight chill and had gone to sleep with two blankets instead of one—the musty smell of the linen closet clinging to the quilt, stuck in my nose.
When fall comes, it feels like I’m waking up for the first time in months, as the summer has made me sluggish in the heat. I soaked summer in as her rain soaked into the mud churned up in the yard. Now I am caught in a tumble, small pieces of my spirit floating through the chilled air. There is a certain dampness here today.
Fall has pricked my finger, drawing crimson as it turns the leaves the most brilliant colors they will showcase in their fragile lifetimes before being crushed under-foot by hunters entering the holy ground—by deer hooves as they forage for acorns. We are now at death’s door, trees turning into skeletons, snakes returning to their rocky hibernation cracks and crevices, a grey stillness in the waters. It is time for evening fires. There is not much that feels better than splitting wood in October.
I have been gathering Hickory nuts in the yard, listening to the sure thud they make when bouncing off the roof, cracking a few open after dinner, picking out the delicate meat. Now is as ‘bout a perfect time as any to get outdoors. Children love the fall—who can resist a leaf pile? They kick up their heels as they run, a new-found energy dancing within them. So let’s dance, too, shall we? Why not embrace the fall like children do? Why not play in that leaf pile?
Fall is a symphony. It is nature’s choir, expending that last bit of energy before the long winter sleep—before the big-finish. Listen, and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Listen, nature is in such good voice these crisp days. The chatter of the squirrels felling the last tree nuts, the birds calling to one another in the dusky sunset, the crunch of leaves doing their job—returning to the earth, composting the ground for the spring. The crops will soon all be in, the harvest complete. Shotguns will be loaded, bows set-up and ready for hunting season.
Fall is the best time to breathe. Take the time to breathe this fresh air, and become aware you are breathing—nature is now telling us we’re still alive and kicking. Let the air sting a little, inhale a little deeper to catch her smell. You can smell dirt best in the fall, so let’s draw-in the drying-out of summer, and hold the fall in our lungs for a moment—its sweetness, Mother Nature’s death rattle will be over before we know it; let us listen and breathe, listen and breathe.
http://i696.photobucket.com/albums/vv322/junkyardfiction/IMG_5333.jpg