I’ve always loved this time of year. Every wild thing that grows, the trees, the grass, the flowers swaying along the roadsides are at their largest and most verdant, having fulfilled the promise the seeds they emerged from held. Even the air feels alive. The electric hum of crickets, the crystalline tweets of goldfinches as they harvest seeds from spent blossoms, the music of late summer is everywhere you go.
The farm stands are overflowing with good things: corn and peaches and peppers and beautiful round melons still holding onto the warmth of the sun. Bouquets of zinnias—hot pink and orange and red—sit in aluminum pails of water, patiently waiting for someone to take them home.
Meadows spin with butterflies and grasshoppers. Dragonflies rest their jeweled wings on fenceposts. Once in a while, I spot a hummingbird, so quick and tiny it doesn’t seem quite real.
The days are still warm, but the nights are cool again—such a relief after months of relentless heat. I’m starting to feeling like my old self, sleeping better than I have since May. My dreams are as clear and bright as the stars.
But the magic is fleeting. Soon, it will be gone, replaced by autumn’s acorns and falling leaves and dry, rustling grass. Go out into it while you can. You won’t have to go far. Take a deep breath and let the glamour seep into your bones, so you’ll still have it with you when the snow flies.
ENP
Emilie-Noelle Provost 