The dog days of summer eventually surrender to the turn, curl up by the fire for a sleep. But not just yet.
Autumn always has its say before old man winter shows up.
Autumn is a favorite around here.
There is the sound the wind makes when it meanders through the field corn.
Suddenly, it seems, the emerald field has gone all flaxen and dry and so that wind works through the dented corn and weathered stalks like 100 kids in their muck boots stomping piles of fallen leaves underfoot.
Then there are the colors.
All of the secrets of the lush green summer are revealed in sequence before the monochrome of winter makes us work for it. Sometimes the color seems to change in a day. You might swear that tree was yellow this morning but now it is more of an orange. That makes you smile.
Go ahead and try not to smile at orange.
Well, autumn also means it's time to bring in the harvest. A ritual that sets the tone of what is to come. And rightfully so.
The leanness of time reflected in the autumn glow is quite indifferent to our bellies in February. So, we take the bounty we can and prepare accordingly.
The thing about that stretched sepia curling up around the corners of the landscape and those long shadows and low-slung sun that bely the quickening clock, is that they remind us that while a bounty is still underfoot, we must see past the marvel of light and color to know the darkness of winter is coming.
Nothing against winter. It has its place and purpose just the same. But the fortunes of spring and summer always end in autumn. What comes with the frost is the real test.
Whatever you are growing in your Dissident Garden, we here at DR hope it is of a great bounty. We hope the Indian summer affords you a little more time to stock your larder. Fill your heart. Steel your resolve.
See you in the field.
- Dissident Rags