Autumn. A time for moving on.
Yesterday, a migrating Palm Warbler flit energetically from branch to branch as a vee of honking geese flew high overhead.
I tore down the play gym yesterday. It was time. Only memories swing on the swings these days. (“Push me daddy! Higher!”) And only ghosts inhabit the fort at the top of the tower. (“Dad, lookit me! I’m a pirate!”) I had procrastinated for a couple of years, but finally got to it. My youngest had her belated 18th birthday party the night before. It was time to move on. It was harder than I thought it would be, both physically and emotionally. Under the slats of the floor I recovered the Frank Thomas baseball card my son dropped many years before. It was blurry. Both from the weather damage, and from the clouds in my eyes.
Autumn. A time for dying.
The leaves are now beginning to turn color. The ornamental grasses are browning. Seed pods have formed on the stalks where bright flowers once smiled.
We got a phone call yesterday. The camping group is getting together again for a big party. Used to be an annual ritual to plan the summer’s trips. There are about 20 families in the group. A web of relationships. Strands of friends, relatives, coworkers, with one organizing dear friend at the center. Family by family we grew. And family by family we shrunk as kids grew older and people stopped camping. We don’t see everyone much anymore. Our dear friend, the organizer, the center of the web, called to invite the group to celebrate our collective friendship, and to toast to days gone past. For the future is bleak. See, she just found out that the breast cancer that had been in a two year remission had spread to her liver. She’s been given three to six months to live.