by cheri block
Yesterday, despite the heat here in Northern California, I went for a walk up the road. The dryness of the hillside, the lethargy of the cattle, and the buzz of frenzied insects remind me that the promise of long summer evenings has been broken.
But I knew that already. After all, I’m almost 60. (There! I’ve said it.)
This time of year, when the poison oak leaves show themselves in pink, orange, and red, instead of their usual green camouflage, I look forward to the seasonal metamorphosis.
On our property, acorns drop from the mighty oaks, hoping to lodge in the loam and grow into stately trees, symbols of strength and longevity. Unfortunately for most, squirrels and Labrador retrievers disregard the little seeds’ efforts and eat them up in a quest for fiber.
Only the heartiest of acorns grows into one of these magnificent trees.
For those of us who are older, staying in the present moment can sometimes be hard to implement, but it is possible.
For some of us who are younger, staying in the present moment can sometimes be hard to implement, but it is possible.
Then, there’s that hiking trail that goes uphill. The one that takes us past the poison oak on crunchy gravel, the one that takes us to the crest of the hill where a feast of view and breathless awe consume us.
The spring green is dead.
The light air of summer has blown away.
Fall has stripped the sycamores and English walnut trees.
The mighty oaks adjust their coats of green, refusing the autumnal shed.
And even a small pink flower among the dead grasses makes a hopeful statement.