Coming On

For me there is often a defining moment that marks the change between seasons. Usually it has little congruity with the calendar.

It was days ago now that I stopped suddenly on my way to my car in the grocery store parking lot to look at some geese flying south. That is when I noticed the haze that embraced the air, only slightly more substantial than the air, and that sense enveloping my arms as if a pendulum were hovering at the ultimate end of one swing and were about to groan into a change of direction.

These things mean something. There is something in them that is shared by other things. The other things may have different identities than the things but they share this something. So when you look at the things, if you read them rightly you gain an idea that is the key to the other things. And the other things might be very very important things. Or they might not.

I love Autumn. She is a tall elegant lady with hair flaming red in the sunlight at the tips and coming out brown at the roots. When she moves everything around her moves and all who see her sigh without knowing why.

Autumn is also like a tire swing with a wide arc; and like a the campfire when it roars no longer and only half the people are still sitting around it telling favorite stories; and like a thunderstorm that you see coming over the field at you while the sun is still warming your back.