The asters are in bloom. Hardly suprising I suppose when they are the chosen flower of Septmber. Still it is nice to see them springing up all through the woods and trails once again. It seemed, many years that no wildflowers would grow back, and here the tiny purple faces are again. Along with the sudden startling reds and burgendy of the occassional wild rose leaves, it seems that fall is on it’s way. The drive back this afternoon with golden fields and bright sun and borders of warming yellows in the trees make the whole world burnished and warm. The cows stood drowsy and satisfied of their place in the world. The tiny gophers stood nibbling daintily upon some choice seed surely thinking that ‘man, sundays are good!’ never knowing what circled far above.
It is perhaps the last weekend of the summer. So they all say anyway. By friday at noon the population had been whipped into a frenzie by the proclaimations that suddenly, without warning, there would be no more summer weekends! This frenzie meant that they must become road warriors and head out. Somewhere, anywhere, just to be moving. There was no point in attempting to get anywhere friday afternoon so I found a bookstore and hunkered down to find a diversion.
Saturday morning dawned dismal and grey with promises of blue sky and all the city emptied. It is rather a wonderful moment to discover all the traffic disappeared like in some old end of the world science fiction movie. ‘What was it that got all the people, gramps?’ "Was it a plague, or a war, or global warming?"
"Nope, child, it was worse than that. It was the last weekend of summer"…cue the dark and mysterious music.
Solace can be found in a small trailer stuck out in a field in the woods. Quiet and calm with owls hooting through the night and a bright moon, high and clear to light your late night excursions to pee in the grass. (you don’t really think I’d walk all the way to the outhouse in the middle of the night, do you?)
There is something grand and soothing about sleeping outside, even in a trailer. I’m not sure what burden comes between us and the earth and sky when we errect houses, but something dampens the earth effects and soddens our senses.
But sleeping outside with the owls and the dew and the moon shining bright renews and refreshes me to wake and believe that looking out at the field, I could, should I find my shoes, I could, be running across the field, with pigails flying and bony knees high, once again six.