On the Turning Away

We're on the back side of August and the nights have grown noticeably cooler.

From a practical standpoint, that means we don't have to run the air conditioner n the bedroom any more. But from a season standpoint, it means the year is starting its wind down.

Geese are on the move as they honk their way over our house on their flight to somewhere. This has been going on for a couple weeks now.

Days are shorter as the darkness starts to infringe on both ends.

There's still another month of summer remaining. At least that's what the calendar says. But the heavy, burning days of sweat and cicadas are behind us.

Sitting by an open window in the evening watching television is more likely to lead to grabbing a blanket than a cold drink.

The days are still warm, less so than even just a few weeks ago. However, the froth of seasonal change has started to wreak its unsettled yearning upon the soul.

The transition from summer to fall is more impactful, more eloquent than any other season changes throughout the year.  Perhaps winter to spring comes close, but in Maine it's such a nebulous time that it is difficult to pinpoint as to exactly when it happens.

Summer to fall, though, is rife with portents and melancholy. A lovely change that impresses a bittersweet sensation that all things must, indeed, eventually end.

The warnings are there and they shout to be sensed more than heard.

As time unfolds more quickly this time of year, it won't be long before the landscape has become barren, the trees denuded of leaves and the sky turned a steel gray with frost on one's breath.

And with this we say goodbye to "summertime and the living is easy."

I'll take my leave with this song by Pink Floyd.