summer is closing shop. I can feel it in the way the late summer sun touches my skin, how the mornings and evenings are slowly getting crisper, requiring a sweater to always be handy. Socks instead of barefeet, warming oats rather than morning smoothies. Late afternoon tropical thunderstorms and a clearing that reveals puffy ruby-colored clouded skies. The sun riding home to the hills earlier now. The anticipation of the final refreshing ocean swims.
In the gardens, I long to hold onto the passing height of summer. The days where the sun is so high in the sky, I lose my sense of time and place in the thick humidity. I miss learning to know the dirt, the plants, the bugs and pollinators. A welcomed post-work cold plunge to revive my bones. The way my soul is fed by the warmth of the sun penetrating my skin, and my barefeet share kisses with the earth.
Could feeling the autumnal shift be our personal late summer harvest? The body is magic. I can feel it when I wake earlier in the morning, warm tea and cooked fruits having me cosy. A pull for more evening cuddles and company. More writing, more art, giving my wild mind a place to unleash her active temperament.
It’s naturally occurring, and I don’t want to fight it. Though when I sit in the garden beds harvesting the final batches of Tulsi and watching the magnificent Greek mullein and queenly teasel go to seed… my heart yearns. Even though I slurped up summertime like a caterpillar to milkweed, moving my body to meet the earth’s daily rhythm, I’m still teary about saying goodbye. Transitions for me are usually challenging ♉︎, especially when it means saying goodbye to someone I love…
I know she will return, but I’ll never get back this moment in time, and it has me feeling into the spaces within where I could have surrendered more, invited in more presence and awakeness. Perhaps it will never be enough, no matter how thoroughly I savor the course of summer.
Part of me is anxiously awaiting cooler temps and thicker sweaters...but my California spirit aches for a forever summer. A late summer, to me, is like savoring the last bite of a rich and creamy dessert. I know the shift is inevitable, it’s already in motion. I ask myself, how will I be in relationship with her this year? Will I drive south for warmer weather weekends? Will I let my tears fall when I feel nostalgic? Will I let my imagination dance in the glowing pools that winter holds in her cave? Will I get swept up by the winds of the fall, floating in and out like the falling petals and rain and summer sun. Will I know how to keep my body strong and warm come darker days? Will I find the connections to keep me bright-eyed and engaged as the days contract and the nights expand?
I’ve spent nearly all spring and fall deepening my relationship with this life-giving plant world.
In the spring, she slowly started to open herself up to receive new life. We uncovered her restful beds and planted seeds as a vision for our future...
We prayed and labored, our hands offering and receiving healing with each dig and pull.
Our pains and joys indiscriminately held by her earthy body.
She reminded me how, with the right conditions, I can grow and let go.
Herbs like blue vervain, looking sad and abused from the outside, until one day she surprised me with full vibrancy!
The season turns yellow and dies back,
seeds are being saved and my mind tries to make sense of what life will be like as my lover goes away.
In the gardens, I long to hold onto the passing height of summer. The days where the sun is so high in the sky, I lose my sense of time and place in the thick humidity. I miss learning to know the dirt, the plants, the bugs and pollinators. A welcomed post-work cold plunge to revive my bones. The way my soul is fed by the warmth of the sun penetrating my skin, and my barefeet share kisses with the earth.
Could feeling the autumnal shift be our personal late summer harvest? The body is magic. I can feel it when I wake earlier in the morning, warm tea and cooked fruits having me cosy. A pull for more evening cuddles and company. More writing, more art, giving my wild mind a place to unleash her active temperament.
It’s naturally occurring, and I don’t want to fight it. Though when I sit in the garden beds harvesting the final batches of Tulsi and watching the magnificent Greek mullein and queenly teasel go to seed… my heart yearns. Even though I slurped up summertime like a caterpillar to milkweed, moving my body to meet the earth’s daily rhythm, I’m still teary about saying goodbye. Transitions for me are usually challenging ♉︎, especially when it means saying goodbye to someone I love…
I know she will return, but I’ll never get back this moment in time, and it has me feeling into the spaces within where I could have surrendered more, invited in more presence and awakeness. Perhaps it will never be enough, no matter how thoroughly I savor the course of summer.
Part of me is anxiously awaiting cooler temps and thicker sweaters...but my California spirit aches for a forever summer. A late summer, to me, is like savoring the last bite of a rich and creamy dessert. I know the shift is inevitable, it’s already in motion. I ask myself, how will I be in relationship with her this year? Will I drive south for warmer weather weekends? Will I let my tears fall when I feel nostalgic? Will I let my imagination dance in the glowing pools that winter holds in her cave? Will I get swept up by the winds of the fall, floating in and out like the falling petals and rain and summer sun. Will I know how to keep my body strong and warm come darker days? Will I find the connections to keep me bright-eyed and engaged as the days contract and the nights expand?
I’ve spent nearly all spring and fall deepening my relationship with this life-giving plant world.
In the spring, she slowly started to open herself up to receive new life. We uncovered her restful beds and planted seeds as a vision for our future...
We prayed and labored, our hands offering and receiving healing with each dig and pull.
Our pains and joys indiscriminately held by her earthy body.
She reminded me how, with the right conditions, I can grow and let go.
Herbs like blue vervain, looking sad and abused from the outside, until one day she surprised me with full vibrancy!
The season turns yellow and dies back,
seeds are being saved and my mind tries to make sense of what life will be like as my lover goes away.
~Katie Ring
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