I don’t know where you live, but this week here (in Oregon), the air changed. All of a sudden there was a crispness. Where for weeks before there had only been varying degrees of too hot. Heading out for my morning coffee, I found it was even a little cold, and was happy for my hoodie. The light is shifting, too. There’s a glowy warmth, a yellow and redness to the reflections on the buildings that isn’t there at other times of the year.

The little animal in me senses that fall is coming, and there’s a funky angst that sounds something like: “gather nuts! frolic and play! bask in the sun! get ready!” I feel a need to simultaneously squeeze every last ounce of sun and delight out of these last few days of summer, but also pulled to move on, slow down, put a sweater on already, and get to the business of the fall. A thousand pumpkin-spiced everythings, premature holiday light displays, costume racks full of the year's favorite superheros and princesses, and the specter of winter are all calling...

What's that thing that Benedictine Monk once said? Media vita in morte sumus. Or, translated, since who speaks latin anymore: In the midst of life we are in death. That’s how this time of year feels to me. Potent with the promises of spring fulfilled everywhere around us: giant and green, blossoming, ripe with (too many!) tomatoes, bounding with vital, happy animals (that were awkward babies just months ago), piled high with lovely grasses and towering sunflowers. But wait... in the next moment, suddenly over-grown, over-ripening, tipping, yellowing... all hinting toward decay. It reminds me of my own precious, limited time here, as I register the splendor and the fleetingness of all things.

For your change-of-seasons pleasure, a bountiful harvest of two smileys: one from sunflower seed shells, found scattered amid the display of a neighbor’s bursting garden. And another by my sister, courtesy of her back porch tomato plants. Heeee! Bring on the fall...