Yesterday was an especially beautiful day at the rabbit patch. I spent most of the day outside mowing, so I saw the bright and clear sky and I felt the slight coolness in the air. Dry leaves are starting to fall and float so gracefully in the breeze and late summer flowers are blooming. I saw the springs’ bunnies, now agile young rabbits and I listened to secrets-told by the trees.
Seasons do not come and go with mystery. They do not sneak up on you with surprise but instead give long farewells, Summer is doing that now. The loosetrife is coming in to its’ glory. The pale lavender spikes remind me of watercolors while the rudbeckia blossoms are so bright they seem to make noise. The ageratum seems shy now. I found more of it yesterday, hiding out by the proud rose-of -sharons.
The grass grows as it always does. It matters little that school has started, to the green grass of the rabbit patch. It grows fiercely til the frost comes, sometime in mid October.
The trees are just beginning to drop leaves now. Yellow leaves were floating here and there yesterday. They float with such grace until they find their destiny. It is like a ballet in the air and it is beautiful to watch. A tree will tell you secrets of the spring at this time. Nests built with diligence in April are showing up now. They are quiet places and filled with all sorts of litter. I saw one yesterday with a single leaf in it and it seemed like an abandoned house to me. I wondered who had lived there and where did they go? As I saw another one and then one more, I started to feel lonely! The song of birds no longer wake me up, I realised suddenly. When did the morning get quiet at the rabbit patch, I wondered.
When I mowed by the pecan trees, I saw they were bare. Pecan trees are like that. They are apt to take a rest ever so often. They are doing so this year. I don’t blame them a bit, though Kyle will be disappointed. He picks up pecans in the fall and sells them. It is hard work to pick up pecans -and it is slow work .
When I got to the grapevines yesterday, I noticed some of the grapes had ripened. It is a habit of country dwellers to pick a few while mowing. It may seem an odd practice, but everybody I know does it. I will not need a basket anytime soon,but it is good to know that at some point I will. When the grapes ripen, the air smells as sweet as it ever does.
I have spent many childhood summers under a grapevine. The shade of a grapevine is the coolest I know of. The branches hang low in summer and creates a playhouse or a fort ,if needed. Delores and I preferred a playhouse. We took benches from a picnic table, tea sets and dolls and set up housekeeping. We invented dramas that lasted for days. If one doll got sick, another would soon after. When the dolls were naughty, we blamed each other for not tending to them properly. Our dolls made good grades in school, won contests and said their prayers. Delores and I “cooked” leaves and sticks and served mudcakes decorated with small rocks. It was not unusual to remember a doll that had been left, and had to be rescued at late hours. We were sure they were scared or in some great danger and would convince mama of this as well. Those were sweet times and I remember them with great fondness every time I mow around a grapevine.
I am cooking Sunday Dinner now, but it is a slow cooked meal, and I have been able to linger around the “morning table” because of that. I plan to serve the cake while it is still warm, because mama and daddy liked it like that last week. Cash and Christopher Robin are sleeping by the window fan while I write. Jenny and Lyla are coming this week-so I am content beyond measure.
Tonight when I go out and stand under the last moon of summer, I will announce my gratitude-for I have seen a mid-air ballet, a world adorned with flowers and I have listened to secrets told to me by trees. It has been been a lovely time. . . and it all happened at the rabbit patch, in the last few days.