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crisp {redux}
it has been a quiet day. not silent, of course, there is never that, but quiet.
part of me feels empty because of it. part of me feels soothed.
i sit here now, late at night in my living room, dog at my feet, television not on, not wanting to disturb the peace.
the windows are open, it was a warm day for fall, not too warm, just perfect.
i hear crickets outside singing away, sounding somewhat frantic, as if they know that very soon the nights will become too cold and then they will be stuck in months of quiet.
a waxing gibbous moon hangs low in the sky, so close to full that I would never know that it isn’t, except that the weatherman says so.
it is autumn, autumn in new york, and you can smell it, the scent of leaves on the ground, a basket of apples, cool nights.
in the field just down the road, the farmer started cutting down corn today, leaving short bare stalks sticking up from the ground, rows of little soldiers bearing witness to the folding in of summer, the boxing up, the putting away.
a surrender that we know must happen, but watch wistfully, just the same.
there is a new package by the back door, but i haven’t opened it just yet, it sits there in crisp wrapping paper, colored in golds and tans, browns and oranges.
i think i’ll leave it out there just a day or two longer,
while i sit here and listen
to summer’s last moment
of silence.
::
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