August Ripens

August ripens, falls bruised from the stem.

I can't say I'm sorry to see it go. August stretched on and on and though it was filled with many good things, I feel all a tingle for autumn. Cool days, endless apples at Farmer's Market, the leaves deepening and finding their true expressions. It's like feeling ready to see your grandparents; it's recognizing a need for silence and the comfort that cold outside and warm inside brings.

Perhaps I am especially excited to see August go tonight. We are at the end of a three-day warm spell, and tonight the house is full, stuffy, and stale. Finally the evening is cooling, and I have already completed the fan ritual, throwing open windows, arranging the air flow to exhaust the old and bring in the fresh of evening. I love our old house, but sometimes long for central air. Stifling summer days force you to close your windows and your curtains in a desperate attempt to cradle some of the evening's cool, and this results in a rather dark, airless house. Imagine my excitement as the day sighs, opening its palms finally to the darkening sky of evening.

Tomorrow is supposed to linger in the 70's, a temperature I am anticipating greatly. The locust tree outside my office window seems mellowed by the change, too; its leaves flutter wearily in the breeze. It is an eccentric tree, weighed down with heavy honeysuckled vines. It is quite messy, actually, but it stands by faithfully as a quiet friend, a spindly, ungainly companion that has sustained many hours of writing and revision.

Martin is downstairs, strumming away with two other friends from the college in preparation for a folk festival this Saturday. I am glad he makes music happily, in his "node" as his mother says, but I couldn't help feeling a little ruffled after spending the day indoors in a hot house, cleaning (I only did it because it the mess, the spider webs, the clutter, threatened a coup) and feeling rather woozy with two children. I continued the ruffled, discontented feeling until I sat down with Elspeth, read and sang to her, and then, she safely in bed, continued on to this quiet space. Quiet spaces are invaluable. I need them to sustain me. I need them in what seems sometimes like a daily battle to be kind and hopeful.

And so, on the eve of the last day in hot, weary August, I hope that you too find and bathe in the quiet of a sacred space.

Peace.