October

"Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes--
The rest sit around it, and pluck blackberries."
E.B. Browning

Autumn in Pennsylvania. What could be more beautiful? My favorite month has passed by in a rush but we did have a couple of days to enjoy a glimpse of heaven here on earth. Two weeks ago the girls had a science class at a rustic camp and in the afternoon enjoyed a boat ride on this creek and a long hayride through the colorful woods.

Last weekend was no less enjoyable and all we did was work. Dad wants the garden cleaned up, I told the girls. They enthusiastically put on shoes and jackets and ran outside. As always, it is sad to put the garden to rest for the winter. How did summer go by so quickly? It was hard work gathering up the dead pumpkin vines still gripping the soil and dragging the huge dry sunflower stalks from the ground. The fragrance of the basil lingered in the air as we loaded the wheelbarrow. I pulled up the zinnias, still blooming, and marveled at how sturdy and thick their stems were, remembering the delicate seedlings we gently planted in the spring, wondering if they could possibly survive unpredictable storms.

I looked over at my daughter--Arielle, solid and strong, collecting the last of the green tomatoes and yanking up the withered remains. The frail little baby we brought home from China not so very long ago is as hardy and resolute as her peasant ancestors. The earth draws her, and she is truly joyful when her hands are touching plants and rocks and dirt. She was less than two years old when I noticed her unusual fascination with the moon, with flowers, with butterflies and praying mantises. She used to walk behind me in the rows of green beans, quietly studying the art of picking. Now she can harvest as well as anyone. She liked to hide among the corn stalks, listening to the slippery sounds of the long leaves in the breeze, pollen from the tassles dusting her black hair. My daughter-- she is no ordinary child. The hands that roughly shake off the dirt from a clump of roots right now can glide so smoothly across the piano keys. Her heart still hears the distant voices from her past, but she dances with enthusiasm to the music of her life with us.

After the garden is cleared, the girls want to play in the leaves. Arielle has already raked a huge pile. The two sisters jump over and over, squealing with abandon. I want to keep these moments forever, to treasure them always. But all I can do is grab a camera and a pen and preserve what fragments I can. Autumn, soon to be gone. The girls eagerly anticipate the Christmas season. They CAN'T WAIT! But let me linger here awhile longer.

Now the wind has turned cold and it has stripped the beautiful leaves from the trees. A vase of faded flowers that the girls salvaged from the dying plants is all that's left of October.