renewed as the dew

"I'm gonna sit right down and write myself a letter...."

Do you remember the night, a few days back- when you walked through the gardens and the sunflowers cast moon shadows behind them?  Remember how it gave you pause, as if their down turned faces were shyly smiling still- through their yellow petaled bangs?  And do you recall how it made you stop, steadfast and look back at your own shadow?  And in that moment, did not all the world seem aglow with moonlight, which is more tender and forgiving...perhaps making all walking the street, lost out in the great world- feel a bit as though we are all so much alike in our shadows?  The same color, softened edges- the moon light ardently shining on our heads, faces- forgiving us our days missteps?  Is it not a blessing to be cast in that gentle light, as all and everything is, in September?

 How you wondered out loud- where the summer went too?  Autumn coming  on the heels of a very dry spell, watering was worrisome as the well might be made to run dry, so the tomatoes in the hoop house had to learn to survive without constant watering and monitoring and still, they grew red and lovely, the recollection now saw concern back then when there was no real cause to worry.  Things grow as they are apt to do.  With or without intervention from a concerned gardener...you mustn't worry so.  Every year, about this time- September, it is as though your perception becomes keener, you are more willing to let things be as they are.

It is cool enough at night that bugs no longer burden you, it is only the sliver of light over head that guides you into the following days of compressed wonder.  The lighted hours shortening, the plants bursting with what energy they have left, in their final and full regard for life.  Bees weighed down gleefully with pollen so thick on their legs that it is a wonder they can still fly on to more collection sites, yet they set off again and again-seemingly unburdened.

 Ah, sweet September- the summer brought so much to handle, to work through, heating up the compost- but what has come of it?

  All that my eyes see now, are prayers answered.  I look to heaven in the web, in the golden rod and flower beds.  I see the pearly gates in the glistening of dew on the trellises, heavy with morning glories.  And there, an angel- praying before it's precise movement towards a meal of a tiny moth- unaware of the mantis warrior camouflaged as the very stem they both share.  And in the evening, the cool blue heavy evenings- comes a mist now that blankets the shadows, the sunflowers, the soul's misgivings- a sweet forgiveness shrouds all and I will sleep renewed as the dew.

Dew Notice