Wednesday, August 25, 2010

CHANGE IS COMING

Wednesday morning, and the first day of the last week in August. Both month and season are fast winding down.
The river upstream from the cottage gleams reddish-gold in the burgeoning light, as if the mirrored water were preparing itself for the flaming reflections of the patchwork leaves a few weeks hence. As Carolyn over at Roundtop Ruminations mused recently, fall is sneaking in. Yet the view of the corridor woods up or downstream is still of an unbroken green swathe lining both banks. Certainly not as variegated in shades of green as back in May, nor as vibrantly lush as the green of June. And not even the tired and dusty looking green I expect to see come September. Just the near-monotone green that has dominated the eye through all of July and will continue through August.
And yet…something's coming. I know it without question. I can't see it or hear it or smell it—but I can feel it. Change is afoot.
Carolyn takes her reassurance of this fact from the birds—the local migratory patterns of hawks and warblers, among others. My familiarity with such avian behavior as related to a specific place is not nearly so finely tuned. Truth be told, I lack the organizational discipline for such critical record keeping, not to mention the gypsy wanderlust that has kept me on the move too much to be an astute stationary observer, never following the round of the year repeatedly from the same viewpoint.
Instead, I'm purely intuitive—part augur, part diviner, with a dash or so of backwoods soothsayer. I listen to wind and water, watch the light, heft the occasional riverstone…try and catch the music of the stars late at night when fogs spirits float over the pool and bats sift the damp darkness. I'd like to think there are still a few drops of druid blood flowing through my veins—maybe a distant diviner grandfather, or goose-bone prophet.
I'll bet the old ones simply knew, too. Knew from some place deep within. Just as I, standing in the red-gold light of another morning, beside my beloved old river, also know—and know unequivocally: time is on the move, the great seasonal wheel keeps turning.
Change is coming.
———————

10 comments:

The Weaver of Grass said...

How I love the way the seasons change subtly Jim. It is just the same here - tiny hints - mostly early morning or late at night, tiny smells, glimpses of red berries and turning leaves - I love it. As usual your river gives me great pleasure. I wish I could stand by it with you for an hour.

The-Grizzled-But-Still-Incorrigible-Scribe-Himself! said...

Weaver…

Yes, the signs are there, but so faint they almost seem imagined, more mood than reality. Yet I know that change is in the air.

I wish you could one day stand with me and look upon this modest little river…and who knows?

Carolyn H said...

Griz: I'm pretty sure I'm part druid, too. It must have seeped into my bones and my blood.

Carolyn H.

Gail said...

HI GRIZZ-

Yes, yes it is. I wrote of the color change. As I awake and go sleepily to the kitchen the burgandy and deep green shadows that dance across the dining room windows and our harvest table's glass top are deepening and shadowed - a promise that Fall is upon us - Hallelujah!!
Love to you
Gail
peace and hope.....

The-Grizzled-But-Still-Incorrigible-Scribe-Himself! said...

Carolyn…

I can see in you a definite kinship with old old oaks and the eternal green within sacred groves…so perhaps there's a bit of progenitor Celt in there—if not by, then certainly by osmosis.

The-Grizzled-But-Still-Incorrigible-Scribe-Himself! said...

Gail…

It's like the shuffling behind the curtain before the play begins.

I can't wait for the curtain to rise.

Take care, be good, love and enjoy.

George said...

A beautiful meditation on seasonal changes, Grizz. As I read it, however, I could hear my soul whispering, "too soon, too soon." I try to accept gracefully flow of time, but sometimes the current seems too swift. In my youth, a year seemed like an eternity. In the autumn of life, however, a year seems to pass by like a high speed train. "Slow down," I hear myself saying, "I need more time to give you the attention you deserve."

The-Grizzled-But-Still-Incorrigible-Scribe-Himself! said...

George…

I know what you mean re. time's now swift passage. Days and weeks and months seem to flash past as if viewed from the window of a high-speed coach…with the ever-increasing that somewhere up ahead the train will enter that long, dark tunnel.

Oddly, I find myself conflicted by the desire to move along, see what's around the next bend, continue the adventure—and concurrently to slow the whole shebang down, draw out the good parts, savor until I've had my fill.

The inescapable realization is that while the universe may be expanding, every day my time is inarguably contracting…

Jayne said...

I simply love this time of year. I love the slow transition and the knowledge that there will be relief soon. I can't wait to open the screen doors, turn on the football, and make a pot of chili. I think it's my very favorite time of the year.

Grace said...

I like to think there's some druid blood running through my veins, too, but it's purely intuitive sensing on my part:)I enjoy all seasons, but there's something special about the coming of fall that stirs my soul a bit deeper than all the rest.