Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Barn Swallows’

When I was a teenager I lived in northern New Jersey. My friends and I eagerly awaited the arrival of Seventeen’s August issue to tell us what it was we should covet for our new school wardrobe. In 1969, my classmate Gay Hubert was on the cover. Notice she’s all bundled up. Hat, scarf,coat, skirt, the works. It was the stuff dreams were made of. Of course generally the first day of school’s temperatures hovered around 80°. Still, we were happy to envision ourselves in kilts and shetland sweaters.

Gay Hubert 1969

Gay Hubert 1969

Going back to school was monumental at sixteen, exciting as well as nerve-wracking. Would I like my teachers? (Generally.) Would I feel over my head? (Usually.) How much would I have forgotten of French conjugations? (Too much.) Would I be chosen for the yearbook staff? (Yes!) Would the guy I had a crush on finally notice? (Nope.)

Barn Swallows

Barn Swallows

Now I measure Septembers by changing leaves, cooler nights. Barn swallows are flocking and heading south. There is an over-richness to the fields, gone rank with asters and Queen Anne’s lace. The late-afternoon light shines at a different angle on the kitchen sink as I prepare dinner. Soup sounds more appealing. The dragonflies are slower, larger, lazier. The lake is low. Fawns have lost their spots; parents are working the velvet off their antlers.

On vacation route Hwy. 101, our main street, enormous RVs, the size of Greyhound buses or larger, lumber along with Jeeps in tow, retirees turning out after the family crowds have diminished. It feels a lull time, a pause as seasons change, full of endings, full of promise.

First Leaves Change, Port Orford © SR Euston

First Leaves Change, Port Orford © SR Euston

Advertisements

Read Full Post »