Vases full of leaves –
beginning to change color – the scarlet of liquid ambers, the browns and golds
of the oaks, the almost platinum of the birch bark with the golden heart-shaped
leaves, the multicolor peachorangegoldredstillclingingtogreen of the sycamores
and maples, the browns and golds of dried grasses.  In the flower garden chrysanthemums are
blooming, with black-eyed Susan’s, gold coreopsis, scarlet spires of Mexican
Sage are host to the hummingbirds who will soon leave for winter grounds, the
sunflowers I’ve grown now bend heavy seed heads for the birds and the squirrels.
 

The first chevrons of the geese have come – honking overhead on their way to
the reservoir – joining the cormorants and the ducks as I pull the dead melon and
bean vines and tomato plants from their supports from my garden and turn them
into the compost bins. I smile softly at
the volunteer garlic shoots which missed last year’s harvest and have decided
to make an early appearance and at the one surviving collard plant that
perversely withstood the summer heat to now come into its own along with the
battered Swiss chard that gave up and finally succumbing in September - bolted.
 I plant early snow peas and lettuces –
laughing at myself that I did this last year – believing it to be the last
time. Certain now that this year it will
be. January and February have their own
timetables for me – as inevitable and changing, exciting as the seasons
themselves – the fabric of life. I muse
that change is constant as the seasons and that even when we think that we are
stuck in a rut – there are choices and changes happening – small as a pea shoot
that in time will bear fruit.  

There is a noticeable tang in
the air now – the nights decidedly colder but still warm enough to bar-b-queue
between the fluttering leaves. Here in California we have in
October what is called – Indian Summer – that cross between the beginning of
autumn and the passing of summer.  Nights
cool enough to begin to think of extra blankets and flannel sheets on the bed, fires
and roasted marshmallows – days warm enough to still go swimming.  It seems odd to begin to make my list for the
upcoming tasks – checking the firewood, cleaning gutters, winter proofing –
locating the decorations for fall and Halloween.  My sister writes of triple digit weather and
watering 3 times a day. I water once a
week – and get my wool suits out of the closet, check my sweaters and my coat –
the city is grey in the mornings and evenings with cool damp fog when I go and
leave from work. During my lunch time I
bask in the sunshine and eat salads made with garden produce – or fruit juicy with
the dusky sweetness of summer still locked in them – grapes, peaches and
nectarines laced with the tartness of apples – not yet in their prime. 

I smile at the wild turkeys
who come with their young – now gangly teens and no longer chicks to eat safflower
seed and cracked corn I put out for them in my front yard, the 3 hens who shepherd
their three youngsters who arrive at 6:30 every morning like clockwork, my
favorites – preceded by the flocks of mourning doves and followed by the
quail. I can tell the time of year by
the changing not only of the leaves, but of the birds as well.  The woodpeckers now long gone with this year’s
chicks – their place taken by the nuthatches, the black-headed brown finches replace
their greenish yellow chested brethren and English sparrows now outnumber the red
breasted ones while the scrub jays and crows as are the owls and hawks
permanent residents – reminders that even during change – there are constants. 

I am thankful for this year’s
harvest – for the bounty that the Goddess has showered upon me – for the new
additions born to the family and for the peace of those who have left it – for
my friends, my family – my daughters – for the safety of my sisters Amber and
Stacy and their loved ones in the aftermath of Rita – for the safety of friends
after Katrina – for the potent reminders from Mother Nature that life – each moment
of it - should be savored not endured – because it could end at a moment’s
notice – by flood, fire, wind or earthquake or by manmade atrocities such as
war….and in the end – it is not personal – just a reminder how precious this
gift is – and that we shouldn’t take what we have and each other – for granted.