August Into October

Throughout August I would stand in the alcove of the front doorstep with my friend Gregory, watching the warm summer rain land on the giant red oak leaves of the tree that is situated at the left side of our circular driveway. Smelling the heavy fresh air, and watching the trees’ branches swaying in the light breeze, I was glad for the reprieve from the hot sun.  Summer came late this year, which made me hope that it would stay longer.

Gregory, by the way, is the little fluorescent green gecko lizard that inhabits our front portico. He too was watching warily, sometimes me, sometimes the outdoors, but generally keeping an eye all round his ‘hood.  He’s a nervous little thing, sometimes frightening himself to the point of losing his tail. He oftentimes held himself high on the back wall, clear of the rain. I wondered, did he not like to get wet? Would his colors change? I questioned him, but he had no answer.  An errant fly had caught his interest instead; another reason I considered him a good friend. He regularly rid the entry way of bugs.

The moment took me back to my childhood summers, with grandparents at their country homes. There is something magical about a country summer for a city child. Standing there watching the rain, I remembered the long ago summer days, miles of forests to explore, blueberries to pick, fat white clouds to watch, pink flowers and black ants, bugs and frogs, rivers and dales, all waiting for our exploration and inspection. Inevitably, rain kept us indoors on occasion. We would watch at the window as the sky transformed its blue to silver grey to wild. Flashes of blinding lightening followed by violent thunder would hold us rapt, unmoving, unblinking, while a nearby grandparent chided us for standing at the window. “It’s dangerous”, “you could be hit by lightening”. That wasn’t true; at ages seven and eight, we knew that we were invincible. Death only happened to very small animals. Our interest level in the dead things rose or fell on the uniqueness of the sighting and the length of the stick that we were carrying at the time of discovery.  Right now I was happy to share the portico with Gregory and kept the memory of small dead animals to myself.

I turned around and August had melded into October. While most months appear to seamlessly flow from one into another, October arrives and stands noticeably between the tail end of summer and the beginning of winter; between just cool and cold! During October I watch the red oak’s leaves curl, turn brown and fall. It’s time to welcome winter, or at least prepare for it. The pool has been closed. The summer furniture has been brought into the garage or covered with heavy casings.  In the coming weeks, the gardeners will clip back the roses and sedums, take the sea grass that circles the pool down to ground level. The same will be true of the St. Johns Wort, and the day lilies. The rabbits and squirrels watch warily from a safe height and distance. They too have been busy foraging for winter supplies. So they watch, concerned that we do not imperil their winter habitats.  Indoors we have had the chimneys swept and the heavier blankets brought down from storage. Like our outdoor four legged friends, including Gregoy, we too are hunkering down for the winter.