Season Change

The trees are that funny shade of green that signals the end of summer and a change in seasons.

At the same time I am attempting to gear up for two more classes at the seminary, the earth is winding down to take its long winter's nap. We are out of sync with each other and in the battle of sync, well, let's just say, my second place is a given.

Days are shorter and a duck or two has begun the trip south.

Time to take the forsythia wreath from the front door and while it is a spring wreath, no summer wreath replaced it in June. A red and orange leafed one will in a month or so.

I notice the cat is sleeping more...that's funny...how can a cat sleep more than 24 hours a day or so it seems?

Labor Day came and went. Twice I mistakenly referred to the holiday as Memorial Day. Did I miss the whole summer?

Jim planted four huge mums underneath the bird feeder. They compete with the morning glories which have been severely hacked back four times this summer so as to not scare the birds from feeding.

Today is a day of memory for the country. Ten autumns and springs and summers and winters have passed since the attack. Still the freshness of the event remains. We live in an unsafe world whether we abide in the city or country, whether the United States or some other country. Lulled into apathy by wars on foreign soil, we have felt distant or perhaps isolated from these horrors. Nine eleven was perhaps the first time a whole generation of Americans realized that they are not immune to the tragedies experienced by much of the world's countries, tragedies experienced much more often than once every ten years. Brighter, more erudite folks than I have written about this event so I'll just close with a line from a very old hymn of peace, "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."

And that's what I think about it.

All summer I have battled the bunnies in the backyard. Now they are gone. And sadly, I must admit, I miss them. I miss the cat and mouse game we played, my trying to keep them away from the flowers and discovering they liked red pepper flakes, them chopping away on the leaves and petals with little regard for the wild, ranting woman who was banging on the window and yelling something they could not make out.

I miss the little snake that used to come sun on the porch step. Confession time, I don't miss him at all.

Reminds me of the one time I walked through my grand parents' backyard past the forked tree that held the wooden stage on which my cousins and I performed our one-act plays and musical reviews. I walked down a narrow, rutted pathway, tall weeds on both sides, past the new-born chicken coop with the incubator on the left and the noisy full grown layers in their coop on the right. The path led between these two shed-like buildings right into the corn field. One day I got as far as the space between the tree and the first coop when peripherally I sensed movement. My keen eye was drawn to what must have seemed like a full-grown boa constrictor crossing the rutted path. It was most likely a five-inch garden snake but regardless...I ran, screaming into the house never, ever to venture down that pathway again.

Oh that the dangerous paths of life could be so dramatic that once scared silly, one would be cured forever of even taking one step toward a pathway of danger.

But back to what I am already missing about summer. Our three hanging baskets of flowers, and the pot of pink things on the porch, did not make it through the summer drought. Yes, I could have watered them with more regularity...let's just leave it at that.

Ah but the Knock-out roses. I've cut them back three times this summer. Blooming and growing, they are making nice little buffets for aphids and other bug-like creatures, but still they bloom on and on, the insects loving the leaves but not the buds.

But nothing beats the morning glories. Killing a morning glory is like trying to kill a silk arrangement. They are the neophyte gardener's delight.

I suppose I miss the bunnies because I know that they have not moved on to greener pastures, but in a sense they have. That greener pasture in the sky. Seeing their little body parts all over the street on the one hand gave me great morbid pleasure and on the other hand....no, let's just leave it at the morbid pleasure.

And that's what I think about it.