Tuesday, September 15, 2009

In Between Time

The crickets are still chirping loudly outside my bedroom windows. I can hear dogs barking near and far echoing off houses, down in the ditch. Our darkening blinds flutter in the light breeze. The fan flut flut fluts away above my head lifting the stray wild hairs that I have by the end of my day. From pulling and running my hands through it. My hair is getting longer, as I let it grow back out. Winterize it if you will.

All is quiet except for the faint sounds of the football game playing in the family room. I lay flat on back snuggled up in creamy white sheets, a fluffy down comforter, fat comfy pillows. The breeze smells good. Like Autumn. Fresh and clean and sweet. I can smell true fall hiding behind the fresh clean scent with its colorful leaves and musty wet ground seasoned with decay, rotting tree entrails, all combined to let us know that a season is coming to an end.

For now, everything feels perfect. It is the time between the seasons. It is the unfair time which we lump together with summer and fall. It occurs between every season. It is like the time before you officially know you are pregnant. You have a sense of it but you do not say so. You just know and it is still nice. It is before you grow round and uncomfortable and sick and tired. It is a lovely secret time that we enjoy knowing and unknowing.

This time right now is a time to throw open every window in the house and turn off the air. It is a time to water the plants without being eaten alive by bugs. It is the time of year when you can go outside in summer clothing still and you are not too hot nor too cold.

The kids still run amuck in the yard wearing shorts and t's, no shoes. Dirty toes dig into the dirt and they pluck at the last of the colorful mums and dahlias.

As I lay there in bed listening to the end of the summer crickets, the late evening birds screaming out one last time before dark, the soft rumbling of an announcer talking about the Pats, and the swoosh of the ceiling fan making gigantic circles in the air above my head.

I also hear the shadows of the day. The giggles and cries. The shouts of glory and anger. The clinking silverware, plates, glasses. The water running. Reading, murmuring, kisses of Good Night. My sweet little peeps tucked away, growing with each passing season from tiny to small to bigger before my very eyes.

The shadows grow longer earlier and the sunsets fade sooner. The moments suddenly begin to stretch out toward winter, toward that feeling of isolation, hibernation, woolly sweaters, long pants and dark shoes.

For now, I will enjoy the in between time because each season seems to be passing by with such speed and as it should be, it is unstoppable.
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