So now my anticipation rises. July is coming to a close. August begins my quest for autumn. I start a bit early; who will know? The song says the days grow short when you reach September. The plan is a happy one. Fall and winter bring many halcyon memories. I like short days and long nights. Sound of rain on my windowpane. Cool breeze with a bite. Walking to Hillcrest school with my cousin Brenda. Free cold milk on milk breaks. The joy of learning but not studying. Possibilities to fill a Sears Wishbook.

The days are getting shorter. The Eastern Wood Pewee is my bird of the day. He is singing near the Writing Porch. The seasons come before you can see them. They come before you can feel them. When I was working, I desired the next promotion to ensure the best for my family.  Retirement was peeking around the corner. I hoped to be older when it came; I understood why people told me to enjoy my youth.

Mr. Green Heron has made his appearance. Brooks Pond is still as the cold front moves in. The Bullfrog Quartet can feel the change coming. The Carolina Wrens are talking one afar and the other near. ‘Fall is coming,’ they say. ‘The Old Man is writing about it,’ they observe. Mr. Beaver saunters slowly back to the Pond with a contented look in his eyes. It had been a good day of dam building.

The little boy is walking his dog. They know school will soon begin. The little boy is bigger each summer. The movie has been put on fast-forward. How long would our lives take if they were placed on fast-forward and watched in a darkened movie theatre? Would we leave after an hour with the plot line understood?

We were there in all of our Christmas glory. Aaron and Jonathon had received a Nintendo. It seemed like a miracle to us. You could control Baseball Players on your television. MJ and I played Bases Loaded all night. Laughing Santa laughed all the Christmas Season. His face was a permanent rubber smile. His laugh was produced by a crank protruding from his back that, when turned, presented a bizarre mix of joy and dour mechanical exhaustion.  Jonathon gave me an exact replica of Laughing Santa a few Christmases back. He has the same upbeat Christmas exuberance when you begin cranking and ends with a tired rendition of is it over yet holiday blues.

We will start feeling fall in the air in August. Squirrels will begin gathering their nuts. Time to think of hayrides and hot chocolate. Ichabod Crane and the Headless Horseman. Dunking for apples and ghosts in the dim distance. Wondering by the fireplace if the past will overtake the future. Will our movie be replayed again…