Friday Ramble - The Season of Last Things

This is the season of last things, and how poignant they are in their shapes and vibrant tints, in every fiber of their joyous and unfettered being. What a fabulous performance they put on, even as they fade and wither, dwindle and fall away.

Scarlet Virginia creepers wrap the wooden fence in the garden, and in the morning, their berries are touched with frost. Oak and maple leaves flutter through the air like birds, coming to rest on veranda railings and the chilly dark earth below.  The Samhain jack-o-lantern has already been cut up, its seeds spread on the deck for the sparrows, finches and chickadees, the innards put out for crows and squirrels to squabble over.

In the village, a few wild grapes still dangle in hedgerows, but most of this year's fruit has already been picked by frugal locals and turned into jelly and wine. A few withered crabapples and hawthorn berries remain, but most of the drupes have been liberated by flocks of migrating birds. The towering sunflowers around the corner have gone to seed at last and are happily flinging their bounty at anyone who will take it. Indoors, the last garden tomatoes are ripening on the old oak table in the dining room. 

I love autumn, but the last weeks of the season always take some getting used to, and I am working on it again this time around. There have been many farewells to departing (or hibernating) wild kin during the last few weeks, and I have tried to remember to say thanks to the myriad entities who enriched our lives this year and have now passed away.

Bees, bumbles, dragonflies and cicadas, veggies, roses and berries - wherever their dancing particles alight in their journey, and whatever they come to be the next time around, may they all be well and happy.

The time has come to edit the labels for this place, remove autumn from the sidebar (Shelves in This Library) and tuck in winter instead. I find myself reluctant to say goodbye to my favorite season of the year, but label editing day is not far off.