October light

Spent a good chunk of the afternoon on a kayak bouncing on the waves left by Nicole. Most of the power boats are gone now, so you can hear the water, the wind.

The shadows are growing long.

October, again.

***

The bees are cranky. The flowers give up less nectar as the sun gives up less light. For the annuals among us, this is it. We can learn from them.

My cosmos are exploding with blossoms. My squash still flowers, an exuberant waste. Dying puts things in perspective, even for a squash plant.



We only get so many October evenings. For a few years, each one finds you stronger. For a few years.

I'm not going to figure this whole thing out this lifetime. That used to bother me.

It doesn't anymore.

***

Last night I saw a million stars, a few thousand distinctly, the rest blended in as the Milky Way. The north wind chased errant water molecules down to Dixie, and we got treated to a show.

I can tell you what we think each blazing point of light represents, and I can get my students to parrot this.

Parrots do well in our culture.

If I could truly share what I think I know about this star or that one, as I end each day with fewer functioning cells than those I had at dawn, my classes would dwindle.

If I could share what I think I know, a few of my lambs would wander under the open sky, chasing light, chasing dreams.




It's October. Most of the world is dying. I teach the few who are growing, who believe they will always keep growing. If they knew otherwise, the school system would fall apart.

We pretend otherwise, we all do.

But the cranky bee never lies. The light is fading, winter is coming.

For all of us.

Two of the photos are from Dublin, one from my backyard. All are mine.