september morn

i pull up the chair on my deck perch for the last time, the late summer sun just rising over the top of the magnolia that was 2 feet tall when she arrived here, like some mail-order bride. she now stands over 20 feet, i’d guess, despite quite a few mishaps with teenaged boys. the light filtering through her many hands this morning is golden in that way that only september dawns are, the air crisp enough to draw me inside for a wrap and a lap throw, the dew heavy enough that the raspberry vines, visited already, are sagging beneath its weight.

the grassy field behind the house is topped with so many seeds, each dew-covered head peeling back its blanket of fog to soak up the golden light, like so many amber jewels awakening. these mornings remind me of that first autumn, 8 years ago now, witnessing the dance of these same grasses from the upstairs bedroom window as i scribbled my poetry, how it seemed to me then that a great loving hand was brushing across her face.

(it is so loud here these last days. perhaps it’s the windows thrown up that brings it so sharply to focus, perhaps it’s the clearness of the air that lets the cacaphony pass through, unmuffled. rush hour traffic and construction awaken me now, when i long to hear morning crickets settling in to bed from the long night singing. this back ground din, i won’t miss.)

there is a glorious spider web caught up with dew too, catching the light near my shoulder.  why is it in autumn they seem to be so abundant?  is it merely the light that invites me to notice what’s always there? or perhaps it is that the season’s brood has just about grown up by this time of the year, filling up bellies now to lay eggs for the winter. her web is perfect, as they all are, of course, the story it tells of the night that has passed,

i think of the seasons, the septembers, i have sat here, breathed here, loved here, lived here and i am content. i have breathed life into this small piece of land; it has breathed life into me.  my son, not yet an adolescent when we came to this place, is a good man, my daughter’s life is a beautiful song. my own life was beginning again when i arrived in this place, that long night culminating with such a tremendous storm.

and now it is beginning again.

september comes.  i am ready.

%d bloggers like this: