August wanes.
Tucked among skyline branches and the wild tangles of roadside ditch thickets are patches of prescient leaves bold enough to prophesy impending end times. The last days of the deciduous.
Foliage dries. Flower petals wither. The colors of nature shift until earthy new hues inhabit the hazy evening atmosphere. The desperate spent pollen of late-summer air mixes with the first patchouli grave-dirt whiffs of early-autumn mold. I inhale deeply and wait for the effects to kick in.
The scent of the harvest season reaches through me with wispy tendrils, disorients me with its witch’s brew cornucopia of euphoria, and pushes me over the precipice towards the cold, dark, and dead months of the year.
As I fall away from the crystal clear beach barbecue carnival chaos of summer, the letting go feels easy. Effortless.
Autumn begins the interior season. The introvert season.
It’s time to focus inward.
Photo Above: august wanes | marginal way, ogunquit, maine | 2019
