fall

glory o the morn

---

There's a hearty vine taking over the back patio.
I'd not expected it to make it through our dry and supremely hot summer. Though it has, despite many occasions of near-dead wilted leaves.

One morning, after a particularly difficult number-crunching, hair-pulling, over-all frustrating all-nighter, I ventured into the cool moist dawn. The sun barely having broken the horizon. Somewhat muffled, the waking bird songs and distant highway sounds. Fresh.

I rounded the corner, past the porch post and mass of heart-shaped vine leaves, vine tendrils snagging in my hair...

Unfocused, bleary-eye, I caught shocks of blue in my periphery.

Most unexpectedly, the vine had not only survived, but it celebrated with blue morning glories sprinkled throughout its delicate foliage.

Sweet.

---

hatchling

Enjoying the warmth of a summer day, I sat in one of the plastic lawn chairs whilst the kiddos were at play. Trying to sound nonchalant, maybe even happy, about the coming end of the season, I made playful comments about topics that are now unremembered.

The summer will be missed, in a way. The heat of it, not so much, but the sense of time being a slight slower will be. Once fall arrives, and in not too long a time from now, the days will grow shorter. Time will seem to slip away faster, I think.

But before this, I sat in my chair, somewhat wet from our "last swim of the season" as it were, drying in the rays of the sun. As I often have done, I scanned every green thing in the yard. The green would be gone soon.

I gazed briefly at the sky. A beautiful sky. The blue intensifies, it seems, as the air tends to grow clearer in the cooling wind.

Then, eyes to the children and the grass beneath us, I saw a tiny movement in the corner of my eye. I knew, instantly, I did not want to know what caused it.

I tried to ignore what I thought I saw, because in that split second, I'd realized what sadness was to follow. There in the dirt, amongst a scattering of shriveled fuchsia crepe myrtle flowers and twigs, silently squirmed a wee and recently hatched creature. A baby dove.

Quietly I uttered, "I didn't want to see that. I wished I hadn't just seen that."

But it was seen, and could not be undone.

Quickly, before picking up the sweet creature, the husband and I searched for a nest, hoping there'd be one within reach. There was not.

The nest was to be found, eventually, very high up in the tree. Too high to be reached safely. I cursed the mother dove, who sat statue-like on her nest. Was she unaware her baby was lost? The nest of the dove, nearly any dove, a shabby one indeed.

With a pained heart and misty eyes, I picked up the little grey ball. He made not a sound as he wriggled, soft in my palm.

I fashioned a nest of sorts for him, what comfort I could possible give, and placed him in a vee of the tree. Into the summer night, he faded...

Time, fleeting...