The chill of a fall morning means summer is gone. While the crisp air itself is not objectionable, it does, for a steamy weather lover like myself, signal a worrisome wait until it is my sultry season again.
I delight, however, in memories captured in previous sweater free days. This summer, while I did not remain inside, I did have to rely on treasured times pre 2020 for long distance journeys.
As summer closes I try to picture myself a year ago racing the season finale triathlon in Plymouth, MA. It was a long weekend that included sunny warm days and solo adventures of my favorite things. A swim/bike/run in a lovely lake, cruising curving country roads and Myles Standish State Forest. A stand up paddle through the lily pads on a calm pond. A successful campfire complete with Jiffy Pop. A quiet sunrise of solitude and poetry followed by a hike along the pond discovering delights of nature.
The drive home added more pleasantries with successful flea market finds, a solo tour of a newly opened winery, and a stroll around New Bedford, MA to see the big ships and imagine times of the whaling days.
Now I imagine times ahead. Times when I can roam freely in a less prohibitive atmosphere.
Now I find my peaceful space in nearby places where nature disregards human frailty and there are quiet places to roam. The tide still rises and falls along the nearby sound and there are trails through the forests where creatures pass from dawn to dusk to dawn again.
Hints of dawn break through the trees at Little Sandy Pond.
The midnight moon moves on to make room for the morn.
An orchestra of birds tunes for songs of the day.
Distinct notes from the frogs as they scamper away.
The hawks circle above to assert their reign,
A kingdom of fur, fins, and feathers guard their space.
Flitting, flying and floating, the noisy prelude stops.
Quiet again embraces Little Sandy Pond.