“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


the morning after saturday night's rain

flowers in the street.
autumn is coming.

there's always the moment when you know.  when the wind and rain shake blooms from the trees and knock them from their homes in flower beds,  when the morning breeze feels different, as it does today.  i slept through last night's full moon, never minding the light filling my bedroom.  i never do that, even when i'm exhausted, but last night i did, and it was a good sleep.  perhaps the moonlight sang me to sleep.  moon as mother.

september usually moves slowly into autumn, and even at that slowness, i am usually sad to see it do so - i cling to summer with every ounce of my being.  perhaps my being weighs less this year, or perhaps i've finally learned what will be will be, or perhaps, maybe maybe, i am okay with autumn. perhaps we are learning to be friends.

it's warm still, in the mid 90s today, but then will begin to drop.  the sound of the wind this morning is cool, the trees and grasses moving in the come and go sunshine.

i have no story, but something feels changed.
me, the season - it's hard to tell.
i like the way this morning's one singing bird sounds.
this past weekend a dragonfly hit my windshield and it sounded like silver.
the bird this morning sounds like a diamond.


1 comment:

  1. i love the sound of your stories... i'm listening. :)

    here, too, fall has come early, though it felt like this was a non-summer, weather-wise. the garden always knows first, and i watch and i listen and there it is.



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