Sunday, September 5, 2010
In Relation to Place: Seasonal Change
Today afforded me the chance to do something I've not done in a long while: write during sunrise. With my boys still asleep, I cuddled up on the couch to watch the first bright rays illuminate my favorite tree.
Surprisingly, she's bounced back very nicely from her rather butcherous trim earlier in the season, as my summer solstice photo will tell you. Funnier still, as I sat watching her, a small squirrel emerged from her lush green onto the phone wire headed straight for me. Because of the odd angle, it seemed as though it were floating on air.
I've been really sad lately, for we've just returned from a camping trip in Maine. The distinctions between the sights, sounds and smells of living among the trees of Acadia versus the Victorian boxes of my neighborhood are quite sharp, of course. Whenever someone strolls by with a cigarette or lets their car sit on idle for too long I find I'm yearning for the more scrumtuously healthy smells of pine and ocean...
But still, here is "my" tree, my little connection to that natural world, abundant with creatures and bright greetings for the sun. And with mornings so cool as they've been, my thoughts now have turned to the season's turn. Most certainly my little family is reaping of what we'd sown in the spring; the question becomes, as for any good farmer, what to do with it now that winter's coming on? What gets stored away for later, what gets baked into celebratory cakes now? What gets shared with others? What gets hoarded into my own cupboard, for my eyes only, to be transformed into some great mixture?
Taking stock will come as the harvest slowly makes its way in, every bit and parcel. For now, though, I'm content to watch and collect. The real effort is in watching without judgment or worry, rather with the careful strategy of a seasoned grower.