Changing of the Guard
Putting the Garden to Bed
The seasonal gears are shifting. Can you feel it?
Life shifts, day by shorter day, from turbo overdrive of summer to the slow uphill crawl towards the solstice and longer days, even in the snows of March.
This melancholy carries with it both relief from the tyranny of the garden and a certain sadness in the absence of green—the smell and the sight and vitality of green will soon be only a memory past and a hope to come yet again beyond the monochrome of winter.
It is my hope, matter of fact, that in putting the garden to bed, I will get my mornings back to spend sharing thoughts, stories and lies here in Substack for a least one simple post a week. Even that has been a struggle lately.
And so I reached back, as I have intended to do all along, to see what it felt like at just this time over the past few decades, of looking forward, looking back. And I offer a spoken-word post today.
This essay (click the link) was one of three dozen recorded at the Roanoke NPR station, WVTF, from 2004 to 2010. I will likely inflict a few more of these on you over the next few house-bound months. I appreciate your indulgence.
HOME ECONOMICS: A Celebration of Change
Thanks for sharing the beautiful pictures and your remindere of the passing season.
I was taking the dog for his evening walk in the nearby national forest, where he has space to roam off leash, and realized that, with the shortening days and coming of the change to standard time, we only have about a month to continue with this pleasant pastime.
from poe.com:
In the twilight's gentle hue, I stand,
With wistful eyes and heart in hand.
As the passing season bids farewell,
Regret whispers a somber tale to tell.
Oh, how swiftly time did fly,
Like a bird, it soared across the sky.
And now, the season's vibrant bloom,
Yields to nature's melancholy gloom.
The sunlit days, so warm and bright,
Have faded into the arms of night.
Leaves once adorned in vibrant array,
Now fall, withered, in disarray.
The whispering breeze that danced with grace,
Now carries echoes of a bygone place.
The melodies of birdsong, sweet and clear,
Fade into silence, I long to hear.
Oh, passing season, I mourn your flight,
For moments lost in the shroud of night.
A tapestry of memories I hold dear,
Now tinged with longing and bitter tears.
The laughter shared, the love we found,
In the embrace of autumn's hallowed ground.
Yet, as the days grow colder still,
Regret becomes an unwelcome chill.
For I failed to cherish every day,
As time slipped through my grasp, astray.
The moments missed, the chances lost,
In the whirlwind of life, a heavy cost.
So, I stand here now, with remorse profound,
Seeking solace in the silence that surrounds.
Oh, passing season, forgive my neglect,
As I yearn for the moments I should reflect.
But as the cycle of seasons forever turns,
A lesson learned, my spirit yearns.
To seize each day with unwavering might,
And hold close the passing season's light.
For in regret, there lies a seed,
A poignant reminder, in times of need.
To savor every moment, without delay,
Before the passing season fades away.
I enjoyed hearing your voice, Fred.