I’ve felt relief and regret in the last few days, the air cooling along with my gardener’s desire to keep summer flowering into autumn. I admit I’ve already cheated on it, with chrysanthemums and year-end contemplation, even begun cutting it down to the size of its decline. A date with pumpkins and cornstalks will be next, the harvest moon rising, the frost finishing off the confusion of my feelings for a long and short commitment to the leaves changing and falling in earnest.
But, alas! As I write this I’m not the only one hovering between staying and moving on. A hummingbird drinks the dwindling nectar of my plantings, lifting, considering, his wings resting on a dead oak branch that still lives for the purpose of his perching.
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