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I said goodbye to summer this week. Time for sweaters, jackets, boots. (Okay—I live in Scotland. So actually, it’s just time for slightly warmer versions of the above, which we pretty much wear all summer too.) But I did put out the the little felt pumpkins my nieces made, and heated up some cider. I’m ready for autumn.

Looking at some old posts, I saw this from several years back.

lake-garda

My friend Bastet is a poet, photographer, and artist. Some years ago she challenged us to a Power Short with the theme “Romance” and her wonderful photo. Her’s was great. [see it here] Mine was… long. With her usual brilliance, Bastet collaborated to cut it back. Still too long, but here is our joint effort in honor of autumn and the memories of summer. [image credit: Bastet, Lake Garda]

Waiting For Autumn.

She squinted up at her granddaughter through fading autumn sun. “I’ve been coming to this beach for seventy-odd years. You don’t need to wait here with me.” 

She remembered childhood mornings with him, sailing their little boat, her red silk scarf as their flag. Long afternoons they drifted, slept, tried out kissing, talked about sailing a bigger boat across the lake, then the ocean. They waited.

One September morning, her stomach cramped. Her mother said no more sailing with him. On the third day that she didn’t go to the dock, her mother brought news. The boat floated back, but he was gone. She waited.

She married one of the young men her brother brought home. Every summer she brought her children, then her grandchildren, to the lake. She waited.

“Nana?”

There, footprints down to the waterfront, a small boat almost invisible against the sunlight, something red streaming in the wind.

“Nana, where are you?” She waited.

How do you mark the change from summer to autumn?