It finally feels like fall and I'm glad. The morning air is crisp and the trees rustle when I step out. Leaves have turned as wind shifts, announcing familiar yet refreshing changes.
The air is so soothing I sigh with relief. Sky is a clear blue, rinsed free of clouds. I sweep my tiny porch and clip the roses, following the lead of the neighbor's gardener. He has come around and clipped all their perennials down to their roots, getting them ready for the winter and ultimately new growth in the spring.
We don't have much of a winter here, yet the seasonal rituals are important. Already I'm looking forward to more rain as that is typical of our winters. My many succulents would take advantage of of the rain by soaking them up and storing them into their thirsty tubers. Only then can they thrive under my neglectful watering practices under the drawn out desert summer heat.
We haven't had much rain last winter, and the summer months was prolonged and especially scorching. Yet only one or two of my smaller saplings have died but the majority survived the fiery weather. I don't know how they do it. My personal overheated season of has worn me out, having me wondering when would we come out of this global recession and our personal depressions, praying for cooling weather, winning economics and changing winds. But who can know but that we shall persist at a time like this?
Perhaps the only thing to wish and pray for then are tubers that stored up and roots that dug deep.