SAUCIER — In the autumn of the year

The calendar says we are in autumn, in mid-October and on the eve of our average first frost date.

But summer has dug in its heels, refusing to relent on the hottest season on record in the U.S.

I check the forecast often, looking for lower highs and cooler lows, but am disappointed daily.

I don’t know why I want to rush to winter’s door.

Perhaps, I’m just tired of the sweat-drenching heat; tired of doing the most minimal task outside and feeling like you need an immediate shower and change of clothes.

Summer is a busy time with lawn-mowing, gardening, grandkids and games. 

Maybe I’m just ready for a change, with different clothes and venues, different sights and smells.

In years past, I was saddened by the early waning light of evening, but now I want to embrace that darkness, seeking solitude and shelter in it.

I’ll miss the vivid colors and tasty fruits of summer, but the season has had it run, and as Ecclesiastes declares, “there is a time for everything,” including brown hills and warm comfort foods.

I’ll miss the symphony of birdsong that greets the early riser on a summer morn. But the coming starkness will highlight the unheard and unappreciated of the avian choir.

I’ll note the cheery whistles of the Northern Cardinal, the busy buzz of the Black-capped Chicadee, and the piercing melancholy of the White-throated Sparrow.

I will listen and give them their due.

Now that the growing is over and the picking is done, I want to witness again one of the great lessons of the world outside.

Like the leaf falling from the tree, so much of nature knows when it is time to go and does so with grace and gratitude. 

After losing a couple of friends in recent months, autumn is a reminder of my own impermanence and of all the gifts I have taken for granted.

Most of all though, I long for autumn and the winter in tow as an opportunity to slow down and get a better look at, and a better grasp of, the world that is passing by.

I want to wander in the crisp air under the bright blue sky, immersed in all the hidden beauty of life.

I once saw a bumper sticker in Texas that read in effect, “O God, give me one more boom and I promise I won’t waste this one.”

That’s my prayer for autumn.