A Collision

By Leslie Parks - Thursday, September 08, 2016

There is a time of year that bridges the season of summer and autumn. It's not quite one and not quite the other. The earth starts to crack from the heat and leaves and grass grow brittle, turning to gold. Then comes a respite from the heat and the nights cool more rapidly. The moisture again wells up from the ground, streams, and rivers to coat the green and yellow with tiny beads of water. The spider webs glow in the morning light. The wild berries ripen, mold and fall to the ground spreading more seeds. The flowers wither into something almost alien before shedding their brown brittle petals.  The morning sky is introspective, cloudy, grey with it's thoughts and then in the middle of the day it brightens, like it's remembering to smile. Sometimes the brouillard (fog) rises up and blankets the country in it's mystery only to reveal the hidden by the mid day sun.  The smells of the earth are of dust and heat one day then suddenly wet and earthy the next day only to repeat again. This bridge of seasons, collides, smacking together the carefree days of the kids to the heavy schedules of school, twining around each other until you can't tell one strand from another. It's chaos and a dance. It is eager anticipation for the schedules and the structure to return yet still longing for that carefree day day of running through water at the edge of the ocean in bare feet. It is the need for comfort food such as soups, stews and pies but firing up the barbeque because grilled chicken in a white wine marinade, a salad and fresh bread still feels like a light enough meal.  One day the heat will be gone, and only the thick stews, hectic schedules, and earthy smells will remain. This bridge only lasts a week, maybe two at the very longest and then it's gone.

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