Turning Day

I refer to it as "Turning Day," when the seasonal shift from Summer to Autumn pulls on her first layer of softness. The sun becomes more golden and loses its white glare, the squash plants mute their leaves toward yellow, and the trees take on a faded look. Even the dried grass has a different feel, departing from being thirsty to becoming dust and mulch. The heat drags on through the afternoon bringing a mood of slow waiting. The morning air has a sharper edge. the blue of the sky deepens as though preparing itself to provide contrast for the upcoming leaves of red and yellow. The August lull is like a wave held in suspension just before the rush and awakening of Autumn. Even most machines are silent now due to fire restrictions and energy-sapping heat. In another month or so, the air will stir with chill and chainsaws. Wood-splitters will tear the quiet into small pieces as we awaken into harvest season activity. But for now, the buzzing of bees and flies, the slap of the screen door, the crashing of turkeys and deer through underbrush, and solitary bird calls are the loudest instruments in the late Summer symphony.
How amazing is the anticipation of each new season: Winter awaits the green and bud of Spring, Spring yearns toward the warmth and light of Summer, Summer stands poised to receive the fresh breath of Autumn, and Autumn looks forward to the slumber of Winter. This wheel seems to move forever ahead, and I, for one, never glance over my shoulder longing toward seasons past.

-Hayward Webster 2005