Summer signs off with a crystal clear day,
her glowing fields ready for harvest,
her trees easing into their first autumn hues.
Such miracles she wrought while we were wrapped
in her sunbright spell, dizzy with play and leisure,
mesmerized by afternoons that stretched on and on
and ended in star-strewn skies. Beneath our dreams
she whispered her song: Become, dear ones, become.
And tadpoles turned into frogs, and goslings grew
strong wings and learned to fly. From blossoms
came seeds and fruits and grains. Eggs became birds.
Caterpillars turned into butterflies. And the earth
was filled with abundance and the sky with song.
Now, gliding into the smooth night, summer
takes her leave, her song flowing behind her:
Well done, sweet ones; well done.

When you need a taste of wisdom,
this is a place you can come, this place
where the tall ones rise from the earth
and tower toward the sky. Stand
among them and be still. Stillness
is their first gift. Feel how you are rooted
in the earth and formed from it. Feel
yourself breathing in the light and the air.
Notice the flowing of the life force
through your veins and the music
of its movement. Notice
how it is not contained within you,
but floats with your breath, carrying
your essence outward into the air
to dance with the essences of grass
and flowers, trees, and ants and birds,
your note forming part of the song.
Watch the trees allow their leaves
to color and fall, the seasons
to change, time to flow. Hear
them breathing the Yes.
Taste its essence in the air,
flowing into you, and through you,
with its boundless song.

Then, over night, as if the soybean gods
heard our longing, and being touched by it,
whispered to their charges, “Turn,” the fields
were topped with gold as far as the eye could see.
And just think! This is only the beginning!

The colors are late this year.
We say that every year about this time.
I think it’s our eagerness to see them.
But this year it’s true. They’re late.
Still, the goldenrod is everywhere—
in the fields, along the roads,
anywhere, really, that it can find a spot.
And look how perfect the corn!
September knows what she’s doing.

Imagine being so bright with joy that you shone like the sun.
Imagine standing with your face to the sky, hiding nothing,
offering everything that you had to give, holding nothing back,
for no other reason than your overflowing thanks
for the incredible wonder of being.

At the very end of summer’s long, slow
inhalation of the nourishing light of the sun,
there comes a pause, a moment when
time itself seems to stand still. Nothing moves.
Not a leaf, not the water, not a sound.
You hold your breath, maybe not even noticing;
it’s such a natural thing. A rest note in the song,
the last word in a chapter. Inside it, everything
is awake, rooted, waiting. Then the air whispers
and the beginning of what-comes-next stirs,
and the reeds sway, and from high in a tree
a bird calls, and once again you’re breathing.

The first notes sound
and the curtain lifts to reveal
a palette of gold and green.
Dusty rose Joe Pye weed
and waves of goldenrod
rise against the backdrop
of late summer’s multi-hued trees,
all of them waltzing in the warm, light breeze.
Now a crimson vine rises, trumpeting
September’s red theme in notes that will sound
in countless variations as the days unfold,
each of them flaming with poignant drama
as the year burns toward its close.

The green still prevails
and always shall, standing
as it does for life. Even so,
the seasons roll, each
having its purpose and time.
Thus autumn begins its ascent,
singing of harvest
in tones of rust and gold.
And on its heels the time of rest
will follow. But even then,
green stands, though there be
mountains of snow.

You would think that by the time
you got to your 77^th autumn,
the season would cease to amaze.
But here we are, almost at its door
and already I find myself gazing
with astonishment, my whole mind
shouting, “Look! Look! Oh, Wow!”

Sometimes you need to take a different path,
to shake off the ordinary and routine.
You never know what surprises and delights
lurk just beyond the horizon. The world,
after all, is filled with wondrous things.
Why, one day you could take a turn
and, right around the bend, discover
a field full of sunflowers. You never know.