I walked in the woods the other morning and caught the first hint of autumn’s invitation. August used to be a time of great nostalgia for me. As a child unready to yield to the structure and impositions of a school schedule, the cool mornings and lengthening shadows came as reminders of the inexorable march of time and the ultimate futility of any attempt to cling to the fanciful freedom of a childhood summer.
As I’ve aged, I’ve grown to appreciate the cycling of all seasons – and have come, even, to anticipate with joy the relief from the sun- and rain-drenched midwest summer days. Yet the aching heart I feel in August returns still; a reminder that while I’ve traveled some great distance since childhood, the road of life is formed in cycles that collapse the space between years and return again to points familiar, yet changed.
As an invitation, I’m curious about what’s moving in your heart, mind and soul these days. How do you relate to the beginning of endings? What does this early harvest time evoke for you? As you reap the specific fruits of your summer season, how do you reconcile that with the potentiality and idealism abundant in the spring sowing? Do you take comfort in gathering the fruits of your harvest and counting the blessings and missteps of your labors?