October 24, 2009
changes
This is the time of year I feel the most connected to the South, to my hometown. It is the harvest, the fall and one of the remaining sugar mills is noisy somewhere in the distant and the smoke billows and reveals the direction of the wind. I walk outside at dusk and I hear it and I smell the cane syrup in the air and I see the trees beginning to silhouette, the fig trees are leafless and the pecan trees are nearly there. I have picked pecans for the first time this year, a modest harvest, but nonetheless, a bowl full. I look forward to more as the years pass and hope a hurricane doesn’t destroy that plan.
There is something about this time of year, after summer and before the holidays, when the season feels like home and Nature nestles and prepares for winter. I want soup on the stove and a fall wreath on my door. I was on my way to put the hens away for the night and I noticed a grouping of three icons of this place in the South – a magnolia tree, a bare fig tree, and a wood pile of split oak. Soon the fires will be lit and the days will be short and winter will seep through the cracks of this old house. I will welcome it no doubt, but for now, I want to soak up all that I can of autumn.
till next time;
p.s.
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