You’re a ghost… of sorts.
Black bike, black sweatshirt, dark pants.
If you’re careful, you won’t get hurt, but there’s an element of danger as well.
Cycle with the breeze, and it’s even more of a rush.
You’re sailing down a dark street lit by pools from streetlights and it’s almost as if you’re in flight.
For a short spell, you’re living dangerously, if 10 miles per hour can be considered that.
It’s not for a long ride, but it’s great fun.
Picking up a few fallen apples as the tree in our back yard gives up its last few, I paused and marveled at the fall. Back inside, Janine asked if I had mowed away the tall weeks on the north edge of our lot. I responded I had, earlier in the summer.
After she made a comment about not getting to the north side of our lot as much as she’d like, that was that. I thought nothing of it.
Then, that night, I dreamed of tall weeds on the north edge of the lawn.
The dream was so real I went out the next morning, almost expecting to see the old weed fronds, but, naturally, they weren’t there.
Dreams are spooky when they are so real.
What is it about my desire to post about the back lawn?
Maybe it’s because of the river birch as it slowly turns the color of fall, or the yellow leaves on the graceful turns of the foliage on the edge of the property.
Perhaps its the last of the apples to fall which haven’t been picked.
Or, it’s the late-season mushrooms that spring up in unexpected places.
It could be those crazy-cool squirrels, tails dancing as they dig to bury the nuts they later may find.
In a roundabout way, it could be the dwindling wood pile that will have to be topped up before the really cold weather hits.
One thing is for sure, it certainly, partially is the retiring of the mower as the grass hunkers down for the winter.
Maybe, in a time of bombast, it’s a reminder that the everyday scene I see just past my computer and the windows looking north is just that, not spectacular, certainly engaging, reminding me that slow change is sure change as the seasons change.