'Tis a beautiful still clear dawn here.
The sky in the east is just now turning to turquoise as the last of the stars fades from view before the approaching dawn.
The huntress of the sky called my name early this morning...
Ah dear Luna...
Such a siren is she, I can never resist her.
When her cold blue light shines through my window, I must arise and follow as best as I can.
'Tis early yet...
Even the birds have yet to sing the morning aria.
I find myself somewhat melancholy this morning.
It occurs to me that as the night temperatures cool and fall approaches, once more I have missed most of the summer.
It seems it was only yesterday morning that I was watching for the first Snowdrops, Cilia and Lily-of-the-Valley, and now the Elderberries are ripe.
I seem to have missed everything in between.
Where does the time go!
The days are never long enough to see everything there is to see, or savour everything that there is to experience.
Life, when one is young is like racing through a book, gulping it down to reach the last chapter.
Now I find myself straining to see the nuance of each frame that passes my view.
I want to savour the minute changes in colour, taste and texture.
I want to hear every quaver in every warble.
I want to watch each sunrise, and enjoy every sunset.
I want to feel every drop of rain that falls, and smell the earthy freshness after each storm has passed.
I want to taste each berry as it ripens, and watch each seed as it grows and blooms.
I want to smell each aroma as the seasons change.
Each second in time is unique and will never pass exactly the same way again.
I don't want to miss any of it.
Not one single thing!
And so time flies far too quickly indeed.
Each nano second is an adventure that I want to experience.
Right at this particular moment in time I can smell apples and frost.
The windows are closed against the chill of a late August morning, and we've had no frost yet.
But I can smell apples.
Immediately I am standing on the front lawn at 'The Farm on the Fifth'.
I'm surrounded by bushels and bushels of apples, and in front of me is a huge old wooden apple press.
It's bright sunlight, but I can smell frost on the air.
Mom and Grandma Nell are there and so are Dad and Uncle Murray.
Poge and I are running around and around the press.
Mom and Grandma are cutting apples....
Dad and Uncle Murray are huffing and puffing as they turn that old crank handle on the top of the press and now I can smell the sweet fresh tang of apple juice.
I stick my finger under the spout and can taste a burst of apple in my mouth.
That wasn't the only time we pressed apples, but that was the only picture I have in my head with Grandma Nell being there.
In other pictures I am older and holding a paring knife myself.
Grandma Nell is gone.
The smell is the same but the texture of the picture and the lighting has changed.
It's a different painting.
The story continues but one of the characters has disappeared forever from the page.
As I grow older , I have learned to savour each individual moment in time.
For I realize...
I shall never pass this way again.
Tags: Memories Fall Farming