September 24, 2007

Greetings from a funambulist,

I remember having a good sense of balance when I was a kid.  I could walk along a train track rail forever without falling off.  I could tightrope along handrails, balance on the peak of our garage roof, tiptoe across narrow branches of the trees in our yard.

I have maintained some of that balance in my fifth decade, but suddenly I find myself teetering, waving my arms to keep from tipping over.   I sense the slightest movement will cause the little bubble in my head to slide off center.  It's not vertigo; it's the end of summer.

We are poised at the equinox between seasons, summer drifting off gently, fall taking its place, subtly, like the high tide on a wide beach.  The exchange leaves an equal amount of day and night, which is a nice touch.  But it also leaves me struggling to keep my balance.

Our end of this planet begins to tip away from the sun, ruining my equilibrium.  But I'm not ready to tip over into fall yet.  I'm still in summer, and it is the season I was born for.

On one side, here is summer.  The smell of fresh cut grass.  Long, hot days with beautiful sunsets.  Running in the sun, even at six in the morning. The sound of cicadas.  Sweating; the good kind.  Splashing in the water.  Cold drinks that really mean something.

On one side, here is fall: cool days and little bite of cold at night. Geese write single consonants pointing south in the sky.  The leaves are just beginning to turn, with little flecks of gold and orange peeking through the leaves like racy undergarments the maples are too shy to show yet.  One morning there is a hint of white frost on the grass.

This week summer is pulling me, helping me keep my balance.  The temperatures are remnants of June.  I am wearing shorts and sandals, running with sunglasses on, eating my breakfast at the picnic table, the sun warming me against the mist in the yard. 

And then this week I built a fire, fueled by the branches cast off by conspirator trees in our yard.  Sitting in the crisp evening air, darkness having arrived just a little ahead of my plan, watching the orange feathers of flames flicker in the ink in front of me.  It is not a summer moment, and the smell of wood smoke permeates my clothes and sends a fall message to my brain.  My internal gyroscope is whirling and I am pulled toward autumn.

I strain toward summer, willing my center of gravity toward the warmer season.  Here is some watermelon in the fridge, my running hat still hanging on the hook by the back door, defiant next to the winter jacket someone unearthed to take the dog out on cool morning.  I lurch, swinging one leg and both arms to keep my balance, one foot wriggling on the line between the seasons.  I grab on to picnics, tan lines, sand dunes, windows down in the car with Mungo Jerry playing at full blast, and feel the summer pull me upright.

It seems I have regained my stability, both feet lined up in front of me, the wild swinging and gyrating has stopped.  My arms extend out into both seasons, perfectly balanced, one stretched into the sun, the other in the dry leaves.  I can walk this thin line between the seasons.

Then I look down at the calendar and can no longer deny the season sifting in around me. I realize that it has been four years since my Dad died.  Four times around the sun to line up again at September 23, where the latitude and longitude and angle of the poles tell me that the anniversary of my father's death means that fall is here.

It is not a date I dwell on all year, I don't anticipate it, or dread it.  I miss my Dad at different times, usually when I'm reminded of something he did or said.  The date he died has significance, but I haven't focused on it, and so when it appears on my horizon, it can leave me a little unstable.  In large part because it is a symbol of change that I cannot look away from. 

The sun dims, the temperature slides, I can feel the humidity drop.  The leaves curl and give in to gravity.  The breeze has a damp chill to it, a portent of frost and ice and snow. 

And I lose my balance and fall. 

Hope this finds you defying gravity,         

David

Copyright (c) 2007 David Smith