Arise

It is my wont to formulate resolutions that I then quickly forget about and often on that list appear dependable truisms such as “save your pennies,” “don’t drink wine like it’s water,” “and if you do drink wine like it’s water for love of all things peaceful don’t start talking politics,” and “stop procrastinating and get on with it already.” Worthy things indeed. Also on that list is the desire to get outside first thing in the morning.

Whether for a run or a stroll, the kiss of morning air on my face invigorates me. This weekend I managed to sneak my camera out in between rain showers. I swoon over all of fall’s colors, but I think I prefer this time, before the leaves turn in mass, the most. The sudden hints of red and yellow amidst the greenery, which just a few weeks ago was looking brittle and dull but has now regained some of its lushness.

Rotund fruits and ragged wildflowers are now the belles of the ball, gracing us with their modest beauty in these late gold days.

I also want to find a rhythm to my posting and hope to be back tomorrow to declare my love for the late September ocean.

How I've been spending my days

Moored in my bed, legs lost in a tangle of sheets. Watching bands of light and shadow flicker across the ceiling with that curious sense of consciousness that comes from pseudophedrine, where everything is leached of color and shape. A sea of tissues and cough drop wrappers cover the floor, and glasses half full of water are staged on every surface.

All the heirloom tomatoes and leafy greens and poblano peppers are slowly wilting and rotting as I eat macaroni and cheese from a blue box and guzzle Tropicana. I think the most nutritious thing I’ve eaten is a poached egg on buttered white toast.

But in my waking moments I’ve devoured a book and learned the patterns of the pigeons wheeling outside my window.

Palely loitering

Just one week ago I was all a fizz and a flutter, all spots of sun and light as air. But now I feel mired in the muck. Unwilling to invest the energy to do the things I want to do, and instead I remain fettered to all the things I wish to slough off.

I had intended to write a more aspirational post but I think I’m going to muddle on that a bit longer.

So instead I will bid goodbye to my beloved summer vines.

Each year I get so attached to that common tangle, a mixed marriage locust and milkweed and rosehip, gartered by honeysuckle and starred with wild iris and morning glory.

The hedges are trimmed back each fall but it seems like it happened earlier this year. Now it’s bleak and dull and without fail makes me think of the first stanza of “La Belle Dame Sans Merci.” I suppose there could be worse things to think of than Keats. But I will miss my quiet mornings there, soothed by the chatter of sparrows and splashing of unseen ducks.

September now!

She says chomping on a Honeycrisp apple. Which is not even my favorite type of apple, despite it's popularity. That honor belongs to the Spencer apple, but it arrives fashionably late.

Anyhow, I didn't sit down to write about apples but instead about September. And how much I love it. It's my antidote to June, which like those Honeycrisp apples tends to get all the applause and swooning. September always invigorates me. Even when the days are still sticky and yet we're all supposed to have our noses firmly to the grindstone, September still delights, perhaps because it's charms are so brief and changing. The light turns gold. The unremitting green of summer is suddenly quickened by red leaves and saffron stalks. Plants pour forth their last flowers. The farmer's market is a magical place where tomatoes, corn, and apples coexist. Seemingly overnight birds suddenly change character, now flocking and eating with increased urgency.


And so I can't help but feel more alive. I even look forward to applying my nose to the grindstone, although that sentiment is more fleeting than September.