tasting the fruit
“Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” (henry david thoreau)
This morning’s bike ride into work was cold, frosty and uncomfortable. Even with gloves and a fleece headwrap over my ears, it took me forever to warm up once I got into the office. I longed instead to be wrapped up in a long sweater, leather wrapped calves and the clicking of boots with a scarf wrapped around my neck.
I cannot deny the fact that it feels like Autumn and big yellow leaves litter our street, our front yard even as I taste the fruit that I grew over the summer, fresh juice dribbled down my chin as my fridge fills with cucumbers, juicy sweet tomatoes, squash, carrots and beets. Bags of freshly picked apples wait for me to peel and cook and freeze and the ever emerging darkness starts to bring a different light to the world that I live in.
The seasons dictate how I live, what I do, my emotions strung into a line of yearly ritual in this land of extremes where my heart dwells. It was only a couple of weeks ago, when I couldn’t find escape from the relentless heat, highs hitting the high thirties (nineties for those on fahrenheit) and now I check the weather ever night to see if I have to cover my roses, my tomatoes because the frozen waver of a frost sits quietly in the air.
My son started school today and I feel myself dreaming of warm fires and pumpkin eyes glittering, walks through corn mazes and leaves crunching as my eyes seek out the brightest leaf in a valley that will soon be covered in hues of orange and yellow as green winks good-bye.
I find myself suddenly tired, weekends of activity and late nights processing photos, droopy eyed and in need of a rest, I actually contemplated taking a blog break but realized that likely a nap would suffice. I suspect that early evening will find me snuggled into the aroma of vanilla scented sheets as I wrap up into a cocoon of sleep, hopeful that I will soon awake from this slumbering dream to find myself rejuvinated by the crisp air of this decaying season, strangely filled with life as my world prepares for a sheet of white sleep.
