Shorter days

Out on the terrace, things have started to happen more slowly. In July, a rose lasts a day. In October, it stays open for three. They take longer to bloom, too, so that buds on the shrubs today might only open in two weeks. Strawberries are still ripening, but do not blush red within a day, as they did in the heat. Now it takes several for a fat white fruit to turn pale orange, full orange, then red.

As I typed the last sentence I heard geese calling in the night sky. I went out and stood on the terrace looking up at the dark and the stars but could not see them. They were headed dead south. I have always hoped that they might be snow geese when I hear them every year. It is a high, heartsore sound. The sound of seasons turning, countries calling, homes remembered, life passing.

Or perhaps it's just the sound of being left behind, and the desire to follow.