Even though it was late August in an August that had felt like August all month long, there was something different about the day.
The fact that it was about fifteen degrees cooler was one thing that keenly observant souls like me would notice. That was an important distinction. Another aspect that didn’t require a mystic’s level of insight or a sleuth’s capacity for detection was that the relative humidity had dropped by half. Even though it was still quite definitely August, the day felt like October. In addition to the feel of cool, clear air, there were even the mare’s tails (clouds) hanging high overhead.
I like the premonition of such days, the feeling of refreshing dawnings and mornings that start out cool and begin warming. I like the smell of crops and the colors of bean fields turning from green to yellow to darker tones. I like the look of apples on a deserted tree going full ripe and the sight of butterflies and yellow jackets gleaning the fallen fruit. I like the smell of cider and the bright of pumpkins in a field of dying vines.
Those autumn days carry the weight of work but there is a promise of rest in the evening, a cooling that begins in the shadows. The promise of cleansing sleep and the waking to an even better day.
I like to think of dying as a walk toward the end of an autumn day. A good rest after the labor of harvest.