Summer ended a couple weeks ago. I wasn’t ready. We were still sitting in the fog of fire haze as the best time of summer passed us by. Still, the garden thrived, and wild birds continued to flock to our yard, and life – such as it has been in 2020 – continued at its relentless pace. One season turned into another with little fanfare.
We received good news at the end of September: a puppy we have been waiting almost two years for was whelped on the 24th and would be available for us to pick up mid-November. Because we have waited so long, we get pick of the litter (male). Someone else who has waited longer gets pick of the litter (female). Already we are making plans to welcome this little bundle of energy: I’ve pulled the dog food dishes, leashes, and miscellaneous gear out of the attic where I stored it the year we lost both Harvey and Murphy. Don will be cleaning the doghouse and adding new bedding. I am clearing a space for the indoor kennel.
Our oldest called to tell us they were buying a house and property with plenty of room for their kids to run and grow. Our youngest grandson called from another state to tell us how excited he was to receive his birthday present (a remote-controlled car).
Good things.
So why am I in such a funk? I stare at blank canvas before setting everything aside with a heavy sigh: I will not paint or draw or color today. I will not sculpt. I will not write. The words don’t come. The muse is asleep. I have never felt quite as sad as I do this year, this Autumn, facing the rainy season down.
It isn’t circumstance. Lord knows we have seen worse times. I’ve lost 3/5’s of my family. We’ve been homeless – with children. We’ve been sued. We have been knocked down, lied about, betrayed. We have sometimes deserved some of the things that came our way. We have been poor.
This morning I walked outside with the intent to just talk to God about my plunging emotions. I didn’t intend to beg Him (or Her) to do anything about it – my emotions are my own and I control how I face the world – but I wanted a sounding board. A non-judgmental ear.
The overcast had begun to break up. Robins could be heard everywhere as they gather into large flocks for their short migration away from here. All the little birds were busy in the Hawthorne, the Camellia, and the evening primroses I left bordering one side of a flower bed. The golden-crowned sparrow, new to our yard this summer, worked the platform feeder with a dark-eyed junco. A Townsend’s warbler (formerly Audubon’s) creeped through the Camellia to look at me – they only visit our yard in the winter months, hanging out at the big feeder out front. A red-breasted nuthatch came even closer, its tiny eyes studying me. The lesser goldfinches worked over the evening primrose – they are also new to our yard this summer, staying longer than their usually migratory passing in the Spring.
I came inside, grabbed my DSLR. What happened was the magic through which God speaks to me: Nature. Birds. Even the bushtits cooperated, those tiny feather-balls of dull grey and a ridiculous long tail.
When the birds and squirrels were fed and sated, I went to work on my overgrown rosemary bush. I hacked back all the unruly branches threatening my precious tree peony on one side, the curry bush on another, and a regular peony on the other side. I discovered I had two rosemary bushes as one branch had grown along the ground and put down roots. I divided them. One bush will go out front along the stone wall. Don thinks I should make it a topiary of some kind.
And I admitted I don’t have the room to dry rosemary, nor do I need to dry any as I have jars on hand from previous years. The hoarder in me stuffed the pruned branches into the yard debris bin.
I have a long way to go to feel purged of this year, but I feel like I am fighting now. It is time to embrace a new season: October, November, December. Holiday season. I already have the Hallowe’en decorations pulled out and ready to install.
Jaci Dawn 
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