The wind is up tonight, rattling everyone’s cages. We have all been cranky the past few days, un-nerved in some way. Like the air is crackling and everything we say to each other is sparked with static and misunderstandings. Like the slip of paper in the fortune cookie says, We throw dirt at each other, but it just means we are losing ground.
The cats are janky too; cross with each other and tussling at a moment’s notice. Oscar, the grouchy one, the boss, the patron, the don, who stalks around with the rolling gait of a sailor ready to prove his authority, is laid up with an infection along his jaw. Antibiotics are pretty much saving him, but he’s not 100 % yet, except for the grouchy part. He sleeps a lot, but at least he’s eager for his food now. I’d like to think that flattery would improve his mood, but he isn’t having any of it. Kind of like the rest of the crew.
Perhaps we aren’t quite ready to give up on summer, as hot and vicious as it was at times. We sense the enclosings of winter, the cinching-up of the season, the tightening.
This year, spider mites ate up most of the roses, ran amuck among the tomatoes, challenged the baby oak tree. We discovered the magic of neem oil, sprayed everything with a deep oily sheen, but the spiders attacks have delayed the growth of plants, the blooming of flowers. The joys of the flowers, the blessings of the open sky and big clouds seemed to be snatched from us – the way we snatch the tiny snakes from the kittens, thwarting them of their fun and diversions. They look at us as if we are just about too stupid to be their gods and stalk off, tails switching.
The wind is up and chafing at the tie-downs of the umbrellas. The canopies ruffle and luff, ripple and snap under the gusts. We are folding ourselves over the fence-edge of the equinox, crossing the stile, to step into the soil of another season, and we’re not quite ready yet.
