By: Elizabeth Redhead Kriston
It's labor day 2019 and my head is foggy with the sleeplessness of the night before. The storms were big and loud and long. The humidity rose unexpectedly and the breeze through my third floor windows was not enough to keep me cool enough for a restful sleep. The dog barked in fear. My daughters radio blasted music from beneath her closed door.
Eventually the storm died out and sleep came back to me in fits and starts.
The morning brought chatter from my youngest and her friend. The news blared from the kitchen TV with more stories about guns and hurricanes. It seems peril is everywhere. Everywhere but here. My home is safe and cozy even with the nonstop talking and bickering between all of us.
Later, I turned on a movie because it's that kid of day-cloudy and damp. The yard is soaked from the torrential rains. A mist and drizzle persists. I try to tune out all the background noise and focus on the actors before me.
The family exits returning my oldest daughter to college after her long weekend home. I stifle the tears pricking my eyes as I say goodbye once again wondering when I will see her again. I think she was too.
I stay behind to recharge and regroup with much needed alone time.
The movie (The Women in Black) was perfect. It was compelling without tragedy. (There is enough real life tragedy I don't need fictionalized trauma.) It was happy but not trite. I was left feeling better than I was when it started.
I noticed the sun peeking through the thick curtain of grey clouds and allowed myself to be drawn outside to sit in the yard. I resisted the urge to put on music or listen to an audio book.
I just sat and looked and listened enjoying the quiet.
The ice cream truck chimed its tunes in the distance trying to coax the last customers of summer out of their homes and into the rain for a frozen treat.
The wind rustled the leaves making that ruffled sound that we will not have for much longer as Autumn can be felt and smelled in the breeze. The broken umbrella creaks in the wind sounding a bit like the doors in all the haunted houses that will spring up soon.
The bees buzzed my sedum getting the last of the flower pollen before all the blooms die off. The crickets and other creatures chirped, and trilled, and sang the songs of evening even though it was just late afternoon.
The birds were quiet. I suppose they are leaving unnoticed for warmer places.
I could hear the water seeping into the ground in the places that were turned to bog in the late summer storm.
I saw the fading flowers in my pots and gardens in the backdrop of more vibrant and hardy species like my dinner plate Hibiscus.
The vegetable garden was decorated with pretty pests like the Japanese Beetles. A few tomatoes struggle to turn red before it's too late for them.
The pear tree has one last pear to offer. Last year we had dozens. This year blight limited our crop to just three.
The grape vines drip with fruit both green and purple. A good pruning will make them flourish next year.
The yard is still pretty and inviting even with the fall approaching.
Last night we had a fire to warm us in the cool evening air. The scent of burnt wood lingers.
My reverie is suddenly interrupted by the return of my family minus one. The truck pulls in, the doors slam, the dog barks in greeting. My youngest daughter is still talking, she never stops. She comes in with stories to tell even without an audience.
I suppose I might be doing the same. Even with no one listening or not many, it feels good to share.
Enjoy these days while they last.
