My Question

It’s a misty, overcast morning. The air is primed for rain. The sweet corn calls from the garden. It’s time — perhaps past time — to pick and process it for winter storage. The summer winds to a close on these last days of August. In northwestern Minnesota summer announces its exit without equivocation. The sun rises later each day. The mornings take on a noticeable chill. The leaves of the aspens yellow. Chokecherry trees turn crimson. Woodland sunflowers and asters open. Goldenrods wave in the drying fields. Each is a sure sign of summer’s end.

 

 

If I could turn back time, I would begin summer anew. Pain would be absent. Joy would awaken me each morning. I would sit outdoors in the early hours watching the new season establishing itself —first warblers, first bluebirds, first eastern kingbirds. I would witness the hepatica opening; I would watch the wood anemone blossom. Flowering plum and apple trees would inform my senses. The sounds of bees and dragonflies, spring peepers and chorus frogs would be each day’s musical accompaniment.

 

 

But it cannot be. Time sweeps us along. Nothing remains as it is. The clock ticks, the sun rises and sets, the seasons turn. Before I can catch my breath, a world recently awakened prepares itself again for a long winter’s sleep.

The poet-novelist Jim Harrison wrote:

I see today that everyone on earth
wants the answer to the same question
but none has the language to ask it.

It’s a misty, overcast morning. The air is primed for rain. The sweet corn calls from the garden. It’s time to pick it for winter storage. The summer winds to a close on these last days of August.

My question – why must everything end?

 

Sandhill Cranes in Harvested Field

 

Harrison, Jim. “A Puzzle.” Songs of Unreason, 47. Port Townsend: Copper Canyon Press, 2011.

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6 thoughts on “My Question

  1. Wonderful photos! Probably, I am thinking, in Paradise or Heaven, call it what you will.. Things never end, but we can switch back and forth, from summer to winter, from spring to fall, from youth to age, whenever we choose.

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    1. This is true. We do have the ability to travel back and forth! What has been lives on to inform what might be. What is often informs what has occurred. Experience teaches this, although in the singular moment — in the very here-and-now — it might not seem so. Thank you for your comments. I enjoy taking the photographs. Bicycling down an otherwise empty gravel road, I am drawn into a world that is so much larger than my single self. It’s a good thing!

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