August 15, 2023

Have you noticed that gardens are looking frowsy –overgrown and perhaps even a bit weary of their own lushness? Many trees in our part of the world look tired. The greens are no longer fresh and new. The fading has begun. Some trees seem eager even to shed their greenness and lighten their load.

Even the rose bush on the path can no longer hold up its head. I’ve had enough perkiness for one season, it seems to say.

Well, it is late summer, after all.

As a child at this point in the summer I remember feeling, “Oh good, the summer is almost over and soon school will begin.” I was always eager for the first day of school. And the second and third and…

Now, while I love fall much more than summer and spring and perhaps not quite as much as I love winter, I am learning in my 70’s to not wish this time away. No matter the season. For who knows what next summer will bring or if I will have a next summer. What losses and changes will the months leading to next summer bring?

I’m learning, slowly and not always so steadily, to be here now. Now.

Now in spite of the heat and the mosquitos, the increased laundry and ironing, the dust on the tables when the windows are open, the bulging traffic heading to the lake on Friday afternoons, the empty pews on Sunday mornings as people vacation, the complaints about rainy weekends, and even the expectations we better have fun or make good use of this time because “soon it will be winter.” (Good, I think, but only smile and nod.)

I am aware, however, that my reasons for fall and winter yearning have become less. After all once warm weather ends I will no longer be able to sit in the Paris garden. Going places, even the grocery store, will take more thought and effort. How many layers do I need to wear? Is it going to snow today? Maybe I should wait till tomorrow. During those months, there is always the concern that a snowstorm may derail plans.

And recently, I heard reports on NPR about the upcoming flu season and what shots and COVID vaccinations will be recommended.

No, none of the strong preferences or affiliations with a season make any real sense.

Just be here now.

Whether sweating or shivering.

Whether hanging out or hunkering in.

Whether adding ice to a tall drink or chopping ice off the sidewalks.

Joy Harjo in her book about why she writes, Catching the Light, says to “Start anywhere to catch the light.”

No matter the season, I say, may I catch the light of a long summer’s evening or the passing of a firefly or even the glimmer of a new idea or clarifying thought.

May I catch the light as it glistens and glides over wildflowers on the side of the road or flowers picked from our backyard garden and now arranged in a small white pitcher on my desk or the light that wraps and warms families playing, resting or reuniting.

Mainly what I’m paying attention to these days, as I attempt to Be Here Now, is the light within. That happens more and more as I lighten the load of regrets and desires unmet and the “shoulds” expressed in the expectations of others or, let’s face it, my expectations of myself.

I’m paying attention to the light that comes from the spaciousness of God’s love and of Jesus’s way, encouraging each of us to lighten up and to enlighten one another with love.

That’s the kind of light that knows no season, knows no time.

An Invitation

What thoughts are you having during these late summer days? I would love to know.