The pandemic and its demands stretch on, yet hovering over the ridge is a change we count on. From this morning until September 22 is still 12 days, a little over a week. At 8:31 am CDT the sun will shine directly on the equator in its journey to the Southern Hemisphere, and the season known as Fall will officially begin. Historically, the coming days are a preparation for harvest. They call for a different color palate of robust reds, russets and shades of gold that melt in browns and tans. In Houston we hear geese some early morning calling to each other as they continue south for a few months in a coastal marsh. Those sounds restore hope that a break in sweltering heat will arrive, maybe in our life time.
Little hints give us an I believe feeling. About three weeks ago, I started hearing the raucous vibrating call of cicadas, crawling from the ground to the trunks of trees to move through one more growth cycle and seek a mate. Each year, the ones that emerge have had 13 – 17 years underground eating root sap and growing. To etymologists, 2020 is a Bloom Year with the possibility of 1.5 million, all seeking a heart’s desire at one time. A relative had an outdoor ZOOM wedding last weekend, so far afield quarantined family could attend. The cicadas provided all the music that was needed. As the beetle- like insects grow, they split and crawl out of old skin leaving a perfect dry shell for children to claim for a cigar box collection.
What I like best is the imperceptible changes in light. Dawn breaks more slowly and that hazy dusk arrives slightly earlier in the evening. Though we need rain, missing the hurricane provided the opportunity at the end of a day to sit outside in slightly cooler, less humid temperatures without swatting mosquitoes. One of the innumerable opinion articles of this covid season called for not having a Fall Back end to daylight saving time to keep depression at bay by more time for activity. As a choice, I am an early hour person and am served better by rising into a morning ready to be greeted by mist and a soft light, and I am content to have a earlier time to wrap up the day.
A few more markers. School supplies are on sale and some days neighborhood children still walk the two blocks for their onsite time. 111 degree heat index gives way to 91 and lessens the amount of sweat at the end of a walk. Some day soon a long sleeve shirt may replace a sleeveless tank top. In this year, especially, I am looking forward to a change. The demands of virus concerns to those of economics need to be laid to rest and in a fallow time, rebuilding calls to be begun. Carrie Newcomer is a folk singer I have newly discovered, and this song of hers speaks truth and hope. Search: Leaves Don’t Fall, They Just Let Go. Come on in, Fall, move to Winter, then let us welcome a new Spring.
To everything there is a season. A time for every purpose under heaven. Ecclesiastes 4:1
Let Me Tell Ya 