I always feel contentedly wistful at the end of summer. Thank God the heat is abating; reaping is close at hand. And yet . . . like the proverbial cricket, I feel time for singing reaching its last notes before we crawl inward and hope to survive.
Now we turn back to work in earnest. Sanctioned laziness is over; that tan will have to wait for next year. The beach, the lake, the mountains beckon one last time. Schoolbooks must be carried in backpacks and opened.
I enjoy the shift in temperature: staving off gives way to savoring, using time strategically. The coming months are my favorite, and love cannot help but bloom, in whatever colors, whatever relations. Colors are coming, and we can paint with them. But they are rich colors, not showy, and we can curl them around our shoulders like shawls as temperatures drop and sun gradually withdraws its stern gaze.
Shadows lengthen, and once again death balances life as an older brother, pointing the way of transformation. For the moment, a dance of equals, and the music is fetching, our food becomes more substantial.
Causes David Radavich Supports
Human rights world-wide, ecology/conservation, historic preservation