Sitting in the sweet morning’s early light, in my own backyard in SW Ohio, I’m conscious of how Autumn is chasing away Summer’s close breath, like the coolness of a breath-mint, clean, fresh and mentholated.
But the grass is still deep emerald green, having had enough rain to make Ohio stand proud and pretty in its party dress.
The cornfields offer their own kind of show– red=headed tassels as the sun lights them from above. The stalks vary in colors, from green to yellow and russet brown–determined by what? When they were planted? The elevation and drainage? It’s a question that my 8 year old grandson, Ty, might ask.
The black-eyed Susan’s have run out of colorful petals and remain as dark seed pods, easy-access to the birds.
Echinacea, the cone flower, has lost its flirty color–a come-hither to the butterflies, offering a harvest of wellness tea for the changing of the seasons—bittersweet and blessed.
Traveling the world has offered me a perspective about my own hometown to which I’d been blind: the beauty of a pasture; the sparkle of a lake; the smell of fresh-mown hay–triggering childhood memories of times when I would lie on the warm summer earth, trying to make images of the clouds, punctuated by occasional jet streams criss-crossing the soft blue sky, adding a distant hum to the crickets’ and cicadas’ cadence as I spun my dreams.
Soon I will be on the road again–traveling in awe and wonder, hopefully meeting a new friend or few. It’s nice to appreciate what I am–and love because of whence I came.