Here, Now: At the turn

Now we take the turn, like a flock changing direction midflight, into a new season. The growing things, pushing up through summer, blooming, offering fruit to hot dry days, now bow their heads. Sunflowers nod like wizened monks. The cornfield whispers at dusk, past its leafy prime now, easing out of green.

Look around. This is the delicate grace of letting go. The leaves glory in it, shouting change from every branch before spinning to ground in one last dance. The vines and stalks offer up their accomplishments before winter’s rest — squash and apple, pumpkin and bean. Birds migrate without question, trusting instinct alone to lead them.

Summer’s bright energy is fading. Everything that was expanding, contracts. Plants fall back to ground. Seeds that we planted we now gather in, store away. But before we go inside, to pile the blankets high, stand quiet for a moment. Draw in the way wind through dry leaves sounds of water. The way the sun spills gold over everything it touches before setting, blessing everything it surrenders to dusk. Standing  here, two feet in a dusty road, the sky wide and dark, listening to the breeze through the  silent cornfield while the world spins forward.

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