The sun is lower in the firmament and shadows deepen. An indigo blue sky bowl arcs over a drowsing earth. Swamp maples catch fire and golden beech leaves drift aimlessly in light winds as I reflect upon this precarious season of dying light. With each moment flowing into another I have lost track of all but changing seasons… burnt ashes remain.
Beloved dogs, one on either side, each hugging my body remind me that I am alive and breathing. When a cardinal lands in my field I frame questions, writing them into dry thin air… How many will I see today? Yesterday’s count was three. Will they stay? A flash of crimson, an orange beak, a ruby crest – all transport me – Awe strikes like the hawk does locking its talons on my heart. For a few moments I too hug the ground and fly with cardinals – free.