To Everything There is a Season

This morning I woke to a smattering of leaves, fallen on the driveway. They are the first stitches of the fall quilt that will soon blanket everything. I made new hummingbird food for the feeder, which may be the last of the season. The last brood of bluebirds have been very active, the juvenile birds flapping their wings, beaks wide open waiting to be fed.

There are signs of the approaching fall everywhere, yet life still struggles to hang on. While the dogwoods change color and their berries turn red, little wildflowers make their way to the surface, determined to be seen, yet so small they are easily overlooked.

I welcome fall, but there is a particular melancholy that floats through the air like the last butterfly of the season. It is the acknowledgement that life moves on, everything having its own season. I am very aware of the feeling as I feel the loss of a summer lost to the virus. When I think we have lived in this uncertainty for a full season, it seems unfathomable.

It feels like the months that follow after losing a loved one. The loss heavy on your senses, changing the taste and smell of everything. The uncertainty of tomorrow while trying to hang on to what once was. Will life ever be the same?

I long for my family. To share a cup of coffee, or snuggle into each other to watch a movie we have seen a thousand times. There is comfort in the familiar. Knowing how the story ends leaves time for hugs and giggles and enjoying the presence of those we love.

Our blueberry bushes produced so many blueberries this year. Yesterday I made blueberry pancakes. My seven year old grandson said he missed me and remembered when he came to my house and he had pancakes with smiley faces. He feels the loss, too.

Tomorrow I will celebrate the change of seasons. Today, I sip my coffee, allowing myself to feel the heaviness of a summer lost. Just for today, I want to breathe it all in.