Summer is saying a long good-bye.  Even though it is not yet the end of August, her departure is beginning. 

     These days the cicadas do not limit their ’song’ to the night time.  During the day as well, I hear the cicadas’ agreeable, screeching notes.  They emerge out of a sunny drowse and build.  Then soon the chorus fades away or stops abruptly.  And after a short break, the song begins to grow again.  What it means when cicadas sing in the daytime I don’t know.  But it’s a sound I associate with the waning of summer. 

     Some of the trees are already changing their look.  The tupelo, still dressed mostly in its solid summer green, is now sporting three bright orange leaves at the tip of a single slender branch.  These three are the trailblazers, hinting at the orange soon to envelop the entire tree.  The red maples, too, have aged over the last couple of months.  Their delicate baby green leaves have toughened and dulled.  Some are pocked and torn.  And the corkscrew willow has incorporated some curly yellow leaves into the curly green ones.

     And when did the berries appear? Without my noticing it, pale green serviceberries have formed, each at the tip of a long, sturdy stem,  from the branches of these slight trees.  It won’t be long before the these berries turn dark and soft, and beckon the birds and squirrels to a tasty treat.

     Speaking of fruit, the crabapple tree is almost completely its autumnal self.  The little apples are a deep, showy red, and I can  picture the greedy pileated woodpecker who will soon discover them, weighing down entire branches in its determination to get at the tart little fruits.

     I glance at one of the pear trees and am surprised to see a large green pear peeking out from a camouflage of leaves.  Then I really look and notice at least five more pears.  They were visible only because I stopped for a hard look, so well do they blend with the leaves. 

     The smells have also begun to change.  How I wish I knew what plant it is that exudes that sweet, late summer smell.  I am smelling it these days, wafting up from the ground, sweet and fragrant in the August sunshine.

     Buddhists talk about the importance of letting go, of not clinging to what is, for change is the nature of all.  And while I know that I will love the beauties September has in store, the passage of summer always makes me melancholy.  I do want to hang onto this season.  I don’t want to let it go.  But as with all beauty, summer’s brief existence makes it all the more achingly beautiful.–April Moore

 

This entry was posted on Friday, August 21st, 2009 at 4:21 am and is filed under Celebrating our beautiful Earth. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.