Monday, September 7, 2015
The Golden Days
The field was washed in the golden light of September this evening. The air was so very still with only the crickets' chorus filling the void. Insects hovered above the grasses, shimmering white flecks of reflected light. Later, I walked through the field and tiny birds flew up from the tall grass, startled at my intrusion. These precious golden days are numbered, ticking away by the minutes as autumn darkens the porch a little earlier each evening. Its inevitable approach is bittersweet, bringing refreshment from summer's heat but, at the high cost of light and long days. I refilled the oil lamps and read on the porch well into late evening. I am not willing to let go of this summer pleasure just yet. A long summertime ago, my father called out into the dark neighborhood for me to come in from play. I would pleadingly call back, "Oh! not yet! Just ten more minutes. Please!" He always allowed me the extra time and I'm trusting the Golden Days will allow me to plead just a few more as well.