Friday, August 17, 2007
Summer is on the wane here in northern Vermont. The morning clouds are long and flat and their underbellies are dark. Gone are the popcorn clouds in blue skies of early summer. The tomatoes are just beginning to turn red. I love the smell of the tomato plants. It’s musky and redolent of hot days and promise of rich sauces and just plain slices and salt. Birds are beginning to gather. It’s getting chill at night, time for a sweater. I light a fire--small, just kindling—in the morning in our bedroom fireplace. Fall brings a different kind of promise than spring or summer, but it is promise nonetheless.