An acquaintance and I connected recently, on the subject of our mothers’ gardens. She described the enormous string beans that drape opulently from her mother’s gates. I noted the bitter melon my mom strings near her crab apple tree, swinging heavily from its branches.
I have been enjoying many things lately. And it isn’t to say I don’t already enjoy most things. But lately the feeling is more reflexive than reflective, a feeling that enters from my head and burns a fast trail to my toes, warming me completely. Think the culprit is autumn. Autumn magic.
Of course, fall doesn’t officially begin for another week. I am trying not to overlook all the goodness of summer, in anticipation of my favorite season. I am eating a ton of watermelon. On the last few pages of ‘Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.’ Jumping lots and lots of rope. I am wearing every pair of sandals I own, before I trade them in for boots. But the season is changing unmistakably. In my mom’s garden alone, somehow over night, all the delicate flowers have withered and have been replaced by heartier, more bountiful blooms.
I like to hope it is change that affects more than our gardens. For me, I hope it is akin to a renewal in myself. I’d like to iron out old, heated anxieties, cultivate new creative spaces. I have grown impatient in many aspects, and would very much like to slow to a more forgiving calm.
Chai is calling. Cinnamons and other warm spices are singing their siren songs. Oh apple cider-oh my-I can’t wait for sweaters and reds and letters!
Hope this week has been good to you, friend. Let’s have tea oh so soon.