Friends, fellow bloggers, members of my internet herb group all have commented on this year’s unusual weather. I am afraid the unusual is becoming the norm. Recent comments in the herb group centered around an early coolness and concern that it may be a portent of cold and harsh winter weather. I too have experienced this and had the uncanny feeling of impending autumn though August was barely half over. I was looking at the window sealing kits in the hardware store and boots in the shoe store, even as I was wearing summer sandals. Then for the past week we’ve had more of the heat and humidity I hate and no rain to break it although storms seem to develop nearby in all directions.
In spite of the irritation of the renewed humidity, I feel a sense of winding down, of wanting to rest, to sleep, to hibernate; it is the feel of impending autumn. With Mosby gone I feel a strong sense of the end of things. This is in no way a sad feeling but an emotional state akin to slack water, that space of time when the water is still, neither ebb tide nor flood tide. The cats stay close, even shy Skye. They demand more attention and seemingly, reassurance. I spend time with them and in the quiet do a lot of thinking. As I move back into a rhythm of regular writing I am struck by how often I use nautical terms, either literally or as metaphor. I lived near the ocean for much of my life. I realize the time I have lived away from it has not been the best time.
I think my desire for early autumn is a subconscious voice telling me to set up a store for the winter, turn inward and prepare for a migration in the spring. Although I am working hard to focus on the present and be mindful, this voice whispers constantly and it is the one I want most to hear. So I proceed with this reality. In the spring as the snow melts and everything thaws and flows into creeks and rivers and finally to the sea, I too will come awake and return to what I love, the sound of surf, seabirds and fog horns and the smell of salt water and tide pools in the sun. Come early, autumn. Help me close this chapter and write another. Help me discard the unnecessary in the way you help the trees shed their leaves. Come early autumn. The sooner you come to help me, the sooner I can go home.