Autumn Soon

Early August and high in the tree tops, by the mountain ridge, maples and oaks are starting to show the first intimation of fall colors. Last night it was cool down into the fifties and we huddled under the cotton blankets.  For weeks, we’ve been enjoying the glorious enchantment of summer with day time temperatures soaring into the nineties. Summer in Vermont! Baseball, sports of all kinds, picnics, parades, swimming in the West River, kayaking on Sunset Lake, paddle boarding by the marina, bike riding in Guilford, and lying in a hammock on a star filled night with your love, dreaming till sleep comes. Vermont, this tranquil island of forests and farms, and soaring to the mountain ridges

I am a gypsy and love to travel the globe; however, now, I will travel here in southern Vermont, rediscovering sanctuaries in the forests, and the chilly delight of the Green River waterfalls by the covered bridge. Kayaking at sunset in the West River and allowing the kayak to lazily float down the river. Friends write and invite me to New York and beyond, but I refuse as best I can and say, “I’m too busy with summer.”

This morning in early August, the air is cool down into the sixties, and though the trees are filled with green leaves, the intimation of autumn is near. For myself and my neighbors, our firewood is mostly stacked and the kindling wrapped in bundles. Tomorrow, I will clean the chimney and put in the parts that I ordered two weeks ago. The summer has been filled with fixing, repairing, mending the roof, painting the house, cutting firewood, making new decks for the backyard, cleaning out the flowerbeds, and the chores that are part of our daily lives. This is the web of life in Vermont. Yes, busy but not too busy. Enough time with family and friends to enjoy this splendid long summer. I’d like to think that the summer will continue all the way into October and beyond. Perhaps, the autumn leaves will remain till the first snowfall

As I live in this paradise of blue Heron Pond, my eyes open at dawn till the first rays of sun as I sip my coffee in my slow morning meditation. The yellow daisies with butterflies dancing, purple asters, red bee balm with the darting humming birds, Echinacea blossom and flowers across the meadows. The sounds of robins and blue jays are the morning’s chorus. The blue heron slowly glides to the center of the pond and preens on the rock. Time slows down. I savor every moment of the summer day.

Yes, still much work to do on the house, more fixing and mending, getting ready for the fall, neighbors cutting hay in the nearby fields, but the task most important of all is to savor every bit of the summer. I store the memories of the hot summer days, cool nights sleeping by the pond, starlight bursting across mountain skies, and the reveries of moonlit nights. All these memories summer in Vermont I store it in my soul as the chilly autumn beckons.

                I watch sunlight dance across the pond, a ripple of a breeze flows across the top and the ferns and hemlocks wave in the first morning light. The sun is strong. I look up at the stout silver maple at the top of the ridge and see the leaves beginning to turn to autumn. Nevertheless, today will be perfect to swim in the chilly pond at noon, beneath the vibrant green forests of summer.

Eternal Summer from “Vermont My Home”

High summer in Vermont,

trees are a dense collage

of leaves and a thicket of

green as far as the eye can

see —  hundreds of

trees in my sight –

stout plump firs,

shaggy hemlocks,

virile oaks, and

maples dreaming of

flaunting their flaming

red and orange leaves

that lie hidden deep

within the summer

green.

Tiger lilies

voluptuous

in orange!

Red bee balm invites

the humming birds,

purple cone flowers,

succulent yellow

coltsfoot, and

lavender irises

are a vibrant bouquet.

Have you ever listened

to the sleeping dreams of

a silver maple tree on

a full moon lit night?

Then snuggle close,

while you sleep, one

ear to the ground and

hear the roots’ restive

dreams of reaching heaven,

My church is these sacred

green mountain woods:

towering oaks that keeps

alive every seed spoken

since the beginning of time,

generation to generation,

in that protoplasmic essence

that holds the mystery

of life.

By the green murky pond

a bower of willows

leans together and their

supple tendril fingers

meet like folded hands in prayer,

when I part the cat-tails,

the squishy ooze seeps between

my toes and draws me down

to the primal muck in the

pond. I float on my back

arms spread wide, adrift

as the pearlescent clouds

and the pale indigo blue

sky parts wide. I am a seed

floating inconsequentially on

the water more thoroughly

anointed  than even John

the Baptist could aspire to.

We are blessed in our love

and loving for this land.

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