September Song

I feel the slow turn of the seasons as the nights become cooler and more still. Our house, though it sits along a busy road that is used by many people as a convenient shortcut between two cities, is surrounded by woods, so in spring and summer, we are serenaded by tree frogs, crickets and cicadas, not to mention many birds.

These days, the katydid chorus is diminishing. Soon enough, I will be hearing the first lonely callings of geese winging their way wherever it is they go. The wind will carry sharp hints of woodsmoke and the rustle of dry leaves.

These days, I, like the wild geese, feel the pull of elsewhere deep within myself, even as my home becomes a warm refuge after walks with the dogs. I look back over my life and its memories and lessons, thankful for the bittersweet tapestry they have become.

But I also look forward, yearning to add to my experiences. I find myself savoring the connections I have forged among family and friends, looking for ways to store up their treasure and even increase it before the long winter months of darkness and cold.

These days, I find myself turning over other kinds of leaves, the kinds that are in my journals. I don’t always reread passages, but I do take comfort in the substance of the books in my hands. Of course, I understand how ephemeral they are, nothing more than Braille dots on heavy paper. But they have the power to remind me of times past, rekindle emotions and reawaken the certainty that indeed, the events of my life didn’t pass me by unnoticed and unremarked.

Soon enough, the earth will be bound by snow and ice. Mornings will steal into my house under cover of darkness, the sun a fugitive low on the horizon. Every evening, it will dip back into darkness with little of the fanfare and trumpeting of summer sunsets.

I dream of journeys and discoveries, new songs and old stories passed from one voice to another.

How will it begin?

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Explore posts in the same categories: Braille, Dogs, Dreams, Family and Friends, Reading, spirituality

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