The slanting light at this time of year is seductive and lovely on a late sunny afternoon, and even more so on an early sunny morning when everything green and turning is wet and sparkling with dew.
Early is relative, however, as that light still slants and the sun is still rising at the decadently late hour of 9 a.m. Which means it is awfully dark when my alarm goes off at 6:15 a.m.
The coincidence of predominantly gloomy weather with the need to rise early this month has made the fewer hours of daylight appear to have arrived with far more suddenness than in years past. Pretty sure I heard a thud when it arrived. That may have been my heart sinking. It has been a bit difficult for me to swallow this year.
And so, when there is a sunny day, I wallow in it and savor it as much as possible, and think thoughts like someone somewhere must have written a poem about this light …
… and about what happens in the garden at this time of year when the sunflower stalks lean with heavy heads …
… and the garden orb weaver spiders take over the vegetable beds. I had hoped to pick many more of the green beans in which she has chosen to build her snare. She’s more afraid of me than I am of her, yes? Then, do tell, why is she half the size of my palm?
Know a poem that sums up the drift of summer to autumn? Please leave a comment! Thank you.