Out of Season

The summer was splendid.  It kept coming and giving until it started going.  I sucked all I could from its teat and then the fall weather began.  The rain that we undoubtedly needed came and I tried my best to cope with that.  The temperature fell a bit and the clothing was adjusted.  We also adjusted our schedules to include more sitting-at-desks time and not-swimming-outdoors-time.  The trees have even started to give up their leaves.  Despite all these season changing markers, I, for some crazy reason, cannot get my bearings.  I'll see an image in a book about Easter and I momentarily think it will soon time to think about that season.  I momentarily lapse into thinking that summer is not far off, or spring.  I get a temporary sense of displacement and disorientation. I'm not really mourning summer, I enjoyed it fully and I'm at peace with the inevitable change. I just can't seem to keep track of the time and the season that I'm in.  Perhaps it is the sheer speed with which our lives are in this time of transition.  Buying indoor shoes and remembering (healthy, nut free) lunches again and rain coats and deadlines all crowd out a vital connection with the physical, seasonal changes that continue to happen habitually and naturally.

This weekend I spent some time outdoors and hung out with my children.  My son taught me how to throw a boomerang (throw it like you (swipe) a credit card, good tip!), we spent many minutes on end examining dewy spider webs up close and making friends with a moth and chatting with neighbours and spending time eating a delicious turkey dinner at the community hall.  It started to creep up on me, but by the end of  the weekend, I started to feel back in season.  The ageing goldenrod and the hydrangea hangers-on finally flagged me down and beckoned me, back into the season.