The last gasp of autumn’s fiery red is as striking as I have ever seen it. My garden still has a few pastel flowers clinging to their dying stems, pale memories of summer. The weather people will tell you that at the beginning of November the average day temperature is 51 degrees and by the end of November, we’ve dropped to an average day temperature of 39 degrees.
I think I am the only person who doesn’t mind the change back to standard time. I know it gets dark earlier in the afternoon, but that means the sun rises earlier also. I am so totally a morning person that I love being able to have more of the morning to myself. No one is calling or emailing or trying to get in touch… there is just this drop dead sunrise with its gold and pink soaked light and me…I call it “time out of time”… my friend Jean taught me that phrase…it is all about a sense of spaciousness…limitless horizons…hope.
Last night the coyotes were in full cry. As I always do, I quickly accounted for husband, dog, cat, goats and chickens all safe in the house and the barn, and then I wondered what was out prowling this night that had caused the coyotes to sound so frenzied. This morning when Wesley and I went out running, Wesley scented something that made him turn tail and try to run back toward the house. I am sure it was the scent of the kill.
Hunting season opened up here last Friday and all makes of pickups are parked in fields and along the roads lined by woods. While my vegetarian husband has very little use for hunting season, I, on the other hand, love venison stew. I am grateful for hunters who use this time to fill their freezers with good meat, but I have no patience at all with “Heater Hunters”, those hunters who drive around at sunset and poke guns out of their truck windows to take potshots at deer grazing at the edge of the woods. Every November the Brooklin General Store hangs up a sign that says “Heater Hunters NOT Welcome”. Would that the roads were lined with those signs.
For each of us, the fall signifies something different. For some, there is a sadness to the loss of the long backlit days of summer, for others it is a time to romp in the leaves and go Trick or Treating, and still for others, the fisherman and farmers in our community, it is a time to take stock of the summer’s harvest. I am always struck that even in dying, the earth offers up such shining images of beauty. The blue conversation of sky and bay, the light so radiant that even the brown grasses glow, and the rug of glitter the frost flings over the the shore, all of it honoring the now of this season. In no time the palette will change again, the air will grow colder, the days shorter and that too will bring us into another season. Whatever the season, may we all leave room for wonder because it is there if we just pay attention.