Yesterday, at the end of a short nap, I had a dream that I was driving on a street, somewhere else, somewhere the grass was green and the leaves had taken on the vibrant colors of the new season. When I pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window, the air was full of that damp, leafy, earthy, autumn scent.
I miss that so much. Autumn is my favorite season, and the air is never like that here in Arizona. As though the earth is taking it all back, with color and chill and that loamy smell in the air as an apology.
Would someone please bottle it and send it to me?
I’m sure I posted this last year, but it’s one of my favorites. And well, Rilke. It’s always a good time to read his words.
Lord, it is time. This was a very big summer.
Lay your shadows over the sundial,
and let the winds loose on the fields.
Command the last fruits to be full;
give them two more sunny days,
urge them on to fulfillment and throw
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.
Who has no house now, will never build one.
Whoever is alone now, will long remain so,
Will watch, read, write long letters
and will wander in the streets, here and there
restlessly, when the leaves blow.
Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. by Larry Hauser and Barbara Abbott