August arrived with a heat wave and skies filled with smoke from distant wildfires. It felt like I would be admiring the flowering herbs and watering the garden every other day forever. Because August is time, suspended.
Until it’s not. I can’t help but notice that after these several long months of waking up and falling asleep in the light, or at least semi-light, darkness is once again encroaching on both ends of my days. After finally stripping down the bedding to it’s lightest summer configuration, the cooler nights this week required I add a layer back. We got rain overnight Saturday after almost 60 days of none. And today, as I was casually walking the perimeter of the pig enclosure, I noticed this:
Looks at all those leaves. The ground nearly carpeted with them, and more fluttering down in the sunshine while I stood there dumbfounded. That is not a scene out of high summer.
I know that it’s the drought. But I also get the distinct sense that this summer may end as abruptly as it began, that it may be time to brace for impact. Bam, autumn. Just like that.
I’m not ready. But tomorrow, we’ll hike into the mountains for one more stretch of days sleeping on the ground in the high country, the closest thing I know to slowing time.