It always takes me by surprise, for some reason. Oh, the signs are always there - that certain chill in the air, a hint of color in the sumac by the road; the strange silence in the morning after the summer birds leave. But every year I find there's that one moment when I finally take notice.
Last night a thunderstorm blew away the last remnants of the summer. For hours the air was filled with long, low rolls of thunder and flashes of lightning. Rain beat on the windows, and the trees bent and swayed in the wind. By morning, though, it was over, and when I stepped out onto the deck the air was fresh and cold. The sky was a clear, clean blue and the lawn was strewn with leaves. As I squinted upward at the sunlight slanting through the trees, a leaf drifted slowly down, and I reached out and caught it mid-air.
Then I heard it: far off, high overhead, the long, sweet calls. Craning my neck, I could just see them passing over. The geese were leaving, heading south in a V of beating wings. And suddenly, like them, I was ready to let the summer go.
I'm so grateful that I live in a part of the world where the seasons change. It makes them more precious, I think, just knowing how fleeting they are. When they bring us hardships, we know they will pass and can endure them. Their blessings are all the sweeter, knowing that they won't last.
It may seem strange, in these difficult times, to talk about blessings. But they're there, nodding on the edges of the road like wildflowers, confirming that life is still good, and urging us to stay strong and hopeful.
And so today as we stand at the threshold of the seasons, I think it's only right and fair that we stop and look back one last time before we bid goodbye to summer once again.
Whether we thank God, or life, or fate, let's say thank you for all the blessings of this summer that have been granted us these past months.
For the long, sultry days and cool nights, for thunderstorms and drenching rains, for trees heavy with leaves and gardens full of ripening food.
For the sounds of summer: the whir of wings as hummingbirds dart from flower to flower, the buzzing of bumblebees burrowing into wild roses; for the high, sweet chirping of frogs and the deep calls of hoot owls late at night. For mornings full of birdsong and busy wings and for gardens alive with moths and monarch butterflies. For the tree frogs clinging to our windows at night, the spiders busy with their weaving, the snakes winding their way through the grass and the fireflies hovering over the meadows in the cool evening mists.
For all the messy, lovely foods of summer: juicy sun-warmed tomatoes, sweet raspberries, ice-cold watermelon, the buttery crunch of corn on the cob.
For the joy of being with friends and family after being apart for so long. For seeing neighbors and chatting with strangers and finally, finally venturing out to sit together and listen to music, see a play or worship with each other.
For sand between our toes and lapping waves on beaches, for smooth stones in quiet pools and wildflowers by the road; for seedings and sunflowers; for long hikes on forest trails; for farmer's markets full of flowers and tables piled with peppers like sweet jewels in the sun.
For visits to old beloved haunts and adventures to new places, for long, long days and brilliant sunsets and sweet nights and full moons.
Most of all, for all the comfort these blessings have brought us in these tumultuous, anxious times.
As I hold these blessings and count them one by one, there are so many I feel as if my hands are full to overflowing. Yet there were many times when I was so busy or worried that I barely noticed them. I'll try to do better.
And as I count them all, I see how fragile they are, every one. Unless we all work to protect them, they could disappear forever. I promise to do all I can to keep them safe.
And now, having been blessed and given thanks, let's turn and face the days to come.
Autumn, I'm ready.
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