Such a beautiful piece! This season is to me most of all about the changed, slanted course of the sun in the sky. Its beams reach now the floor inside my living. In the old days, it was the time of strong fragrances of vinegar, laurel and pepper, as my mum was making pickles.
I love that I'm not alone in my thought that this is a "sacred liminal space." A unique, though unofficial, season. I've said it before I know but August and Summer are not the same things and August here in Georgia, at least this year, seems a bit vengeful and unrelenting. She's not always been this way. We've had way more days this year of triple-digit heat indexes. More than I remember, having grown up in the same area I live now. I've been praying for rain and thank God some is in for forecast for the next few days.
But I do have hope in Autumn's return. The spiders are out here as well and the sun is setting a bit earlier and changing its position in the sky. The end of this sweltering heat is near and there seems to be a collective sense in the air that Autumn will be welcomed with open arms.
We’re in the same boat down in Texas - praying for rain and an end to the triple digits. We’re starting to get one or two cool (85°) mornings per week and I’m so excited for the fall to arrive!
Sally, the last line of your reflection, about one last push, unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes. Part of this season of August, as I’ve talked about, is back to school for James and back to full-time days of caring for the girls myself... and just as we approach the end of August and the third week of school, I’m starting to feel that push. One more moment of prayer before I scroll through my phone during naptime. One more (or one at all) load of laundry in the washer tonight. One more minute of putting toys and dishes where they belong before going to bed. And somehow, the Lord is multiplying the fruit of those “one last push” moments beyond what I’d expected. This sense of one last harvest before the time of rest, even if it’s a cycle that repeats two or three times a day.
I just wanted to say that I saw your name tagged in another post and noticed we share the same first initials, so I clicked on a whim. Turns out your writing is just the sort I love! Your poetic reflection on the changing season is absolutely lovely. I moved to Wisconsin recently (BIG change from California) and something that caught my eye recently was the bare edges of some maple leaves beginning to turn yellow. It got me all excited for fall in a way that I'd never experienced before.
My body experiences the changing season in the Pacific Northwest with abundant harvests. Feasts of corn, tomatoes, tomatillos. plums, grapes, late-summer brassicas, figs, the endless cut-and-dry calendula flower processing. And it’s not just my tongue experiencing. My eyes feast on the deepening colors, my ears find rhythm with the crickets and my hands are sticky with resin, sugars and pollen. I rejoice in it, but also feel a restlessness. An urgency to gather, prepare and not forget.
The first few leaves are down, but the heat is still too hot, the humidity in this part of the country making fall feel far off. I’m excited to see a low in the 50s in the forecast, but fall is more ‘not yet’ than ‘now.’ Kids are back in school, and roads are to be avoided around 4pm if possible. I’m tired of summer; can you tell? Waiting, waiting for crisp chill, for color, for a change in the quality of light.
Such a beautiful piece! This season is to me most of all about the changed, slanted course of the sun in the sky. Its beams reach now the floor inside my living. In the old days, it was the time of strong fragrances of vinegar, laurel and pepper, as my mum was making pickles.
Thanks for introducing me to a new saint!
I love that I'm not alone in my thought that this is a "sacred liminal space." A unique, though unofficial, season. I've said it before I know but August and Summer are not the same things and August here in Georgia, at least this year, seems a bit vengeful and unrelenting. She's not always been this way. We've had way more days this year of triple-digit heat indexes. More than I remember, having grown up in the same area I live now. I've been praying for rain and thank God some is in for forecast for the next few days.
But I do have hope in Autumn's return. The spiders are out here as well and the sun is setting a bit earlier and changing its position in the sky. The end of this sweltering heat is near and there seems to be a collective sense in the air that Autumn will be welcomed with open arms.
We’re in the same boat down in Texas - praying for rain and an end to the triple digits. We’re starting to get one or two cool (85°) mornings per week and I’m so excited for the fall to arrive!
Sally, the last line of your reflection, about one last push, unexpectedly brought tears to my eyes. Part of this season of August, as I’ve talked about, is back to school for James and back to full-time days of caring for the girls myself... and just as we approach the end of August and the third week of school, I’m starting to feel that push. One more moment of prayer before I scroll through my phone during naptime. One more (or one at all) load of laundry in the washer tonight. One more minute of putting toys and dishes where they belong before going to bed. And somehow, the Lord is multiplying the fruit of those “one last push” moments beyond what I’d expected. This sense of one last harvest before the time of rest, even if it’s a cycle that repeats two or three times a day.
I really liked this. I’m a big Saint Anthony fan, because my mom always said he could find stuff, and now Fiacre will take up some space too. 😀
I just wanted to say that I saw your name tagged in another post and noticed we share the same first initials, so I clicked on a whim. Turns out your writing is just the sort I love! Your poetic reflection on the changing season is absolutely lovely. I moved to Wisconsin recently (BIG change from California) and something that caught my eye recently was the bare edges of some maple leaves beginning to turn yellow. It got me all excited for fall in a way that I'd never experienced before.
My body experiences the changing season in the Pacific Northwest with abundant harvests. Feasts of corn, tomatoes, tomatillos. plums, grapes, late-summer brassicas, figs, the endless cut-and-dry calendula flower processing. And it’s not just my tongue experiencing. My eyes feast on the deepening colors, my ears find rhythm with the crickets and my hands are sticky with resin, sugars and pollen. I rejoice in it, but also feel a restlessness. An urgency to gather, prepare and not forget.
The first few leaves are down, but the heat is still too hot, the humidity in this part of the country making fall feel far off. I’m excited to see a low in the 50s in the forecast, but fall is more ‘not yet’ than ‘now.’ Kids are back in school, and roads are to be avoided around 4pm if possible. I’m tired of summer; can you tell? Waiting, waiting for crisp chill, for color, for a change in the quality of light.