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At Maya’s pond pondering, ducks winging, first flakes flinging, my heart singing, getting towards late October, up here it’s the verge of winter, just past Aspen gold, before the snow white cold, on a sitting log, clearing life’s fog, it’s hard to find the words to describe the feeling that comes in the wind with the first arrival of falling snow, but it’s a feeling of complete, and as the snow turns to sleet, I am aware of my body with its intimate pains, aware of my mind with its unseen strains, yet in the quiet solitude of this place nature made, for at least awhile, up here, they fade

I love when Aspen go to ground, when the Aspen leaves fall, I see leaves yellow twirling in a breezy air, sometimes they are all around, the breeze takes a pause, and so do I, I sit back, lean against an Aspen, a cloud blocks the sun, I feel a chill, I sit still, there’s a feeling in the chill, to me it’s a thrill, because I know it will not be long til snow comes around, the air moves, the leaves shake, clatter, a coyote saunters by, nose to the sky, a solitary leaf drops, I hear birds chatter, tall pines crowd a nearby  ridge, I take it all in, pondering the colors, the change that’s occurring, the change that’s coming, last daisies in bloom, I want to come back here when the snow lies deep, I hope I can, but I don’t want to assume, most of all, I hope I  will be able to recall how I feel when Aspen go to ground, when Aspen leaves fall 

I don’t know if I’m getting smarter, but one thing I know is I’m getting older whether the clouds come dark or the sun comes bright, and sometimes like now, as I just sit amidst the color of mid-September asters watching how the light slides across the day, I’m taken away, into the shadows of time where yesterday lies waiting for tomorrow,  where my weariness takes me by the hand and leads me to the quiet of now, to where I feel the strength in being alone and hear the music in my heart, and there I look for something I otherwise might not see

A quiet early Fall morning, grasses gone to seed shining in the softer sunlight, the season like life  is moving on, and I am pulled along, but this morning it feels gentle, not rough and ragged as life too often seems to be, I wrap this morning’s softness around me like a blanket of kindness around my shoulders protecting me from the cold of hardness, I brush past a sunflower at my elbow, I see a few cottonwood leaves turned yellow, a breeze dances through me, I’m looking to be filled by nature’s ways, letting it’s silence sound within me, letting a sigh of needed relief flow through me, touched by the light and the first changing of color in the leaves. 

Walking past an aster wishing time would pass faster as I am trying to get to September and all those months of er, when the days grow shorter, the months of brr when nights get cooler, heading to Winter, so much to look forward to, the leaves changing color, first the Aspen and Sumac then finally the Cottonwood.  I want to stand among falling leaves as they swirl and they twirl, I want to walk on leaves that have fallen, there’s something about their colors on the ground that astound, they quiet me, internally, I imagine myself bending to pick up a leaf and hold it in my fingers, and that helps as summer lingers and then I wonder maybe it is not a good idea to ever wish time would go fast, when each moment in time is so quickly and forever past.

First day of September, again, season turning round the bend, I sit on a log, pondering the drama, listening, feeling, wondering, so many leaves to fall, as I sit in the green, pondering, how time charges on, pays no attention to whether I stop or not, yet stop I must, try to embrace the moments that easily slip away, and then I observe a shadow of a leaf on a leaf, and though I can’t explain why it brings a feeling of relief, a moment of light, before I, like time, move on.

A heavy rain in August eases the summer’s heated strain, giving hope for a forgiving Fall, until magic fills the winter sky and though still no change of color in even a single leaf, my reaction to the August rain is relief, while purple stars blaze or maybe I should say lavender, so many simple wonders amaze, I walk on the soft side in the shade. I see tracks of a deer, seedheads of Big Bluestem and Indiangrass appear, I sit by a ground squirrel and a Queen Anne’s lace curl,  I see hummingbirds hovering and trout rising in a lost lake I am rediscovering, it’s a time for ripening chokecherries and wild plum, when hungry bears will come, when blue flax is gone, gone to seed and goldenrod too will soon on its way proceed and finally I see another first frost, one week before September that brings to mind other first frosts I still remember.

Third day of August on a mountain trail, paused on a flat to let my heart catch up with me, a hummingbird sounds off so near, sun coming up to the rear, on the trail ahead peeks a deer, there’s a certain feeling that I get in a wilderness, yes of course there’s a feeling of wild but also there’s a gentleness, a connection to the naturalness of being alive that is so much more than just a feeling of needing to survive

Aspen and conifer, daisies and yarrows, and I find myself thinking of tomorrows, not just the day after today but all those beyond and in that mental mode I wander on, find myself climbing a hill of Aspen trees with leaves in the breeze shaking, quaking, til in a spot of shade at the top of the hill I stop, sit down  and am still, and for awhile though I cannot say exactly how, in my mind  there is only now, I feel no restless urge to stir sitting in a forest of Aspen next to a conifer. 

Sitting in a forest off a trail in the shade of pine watching humans walk or run by on occasion, makes me feel like a forest animal watching with curious eye as they go, some going to, some going fro, some alone and silent some in pairs or groups making loud mouth noises as I sit with the longtime resident rocks and trees enjoying a gentle breeze, what is interesting is if the humans looked my way, they would see me, but they don’t, they only look their way, they only look where they are going and none of them stops, moving on by me without knowing