Living in a coastal town that runs on the fishing industry means that the summers from Memorial day to Labor day are, as you might expect, overrun with tourists and fishing boats. RVers and campers.
Today, walking down to the bay at 8am with the tide at it's lowest, we went to cross the street and, by the time we hit the crosswalk, we realized that we have "our town" back again. Looking north and south down the road, there was just one single car visible as far as we could see.
And that, is a lovely thing. . .
The sound of the town is different these 9 months. You can hear the kingfishers, gulls, herons and terns all the way from the bay, the ravens and crows are a little more likely to come by in the mornings for bread again as the digs on the street are not nearly as good. The nights are a little less rowdy and the harbor itself, though still filled with boats as salmon season approaches, is decidedly quieter too.
In my life I have always been an autumn child. I'm willing to say some of it is the school year schedule that allows September to take on the feel of possibility and newness every year since.
Though I also think it is the change in weather,
The feel in the air.
The leaves beginning to turn
The shorter and shorter days
The change in season stirs my soul like very few things can and never more so than from the boisterous warmth of summer to the slowly turning and fading of Autumn all around me. . .
The creative fires burn brighter too in this air of Autumn alchemy
I could work round the clock in this season and dream endlessly of new things to make.
But the best part of all is, it all comes in on the blissful echo and the beauty of silences
As the season that subdues so many, brings the world here and within myself, back to life