I drove up the driveway and shut off the car engine.

That's when I heard it.

My ears snapped to attention.  Oh my God, I thought.

I wrestled my purse and bag into the house. 

Listened to the answering machine.

   Started dinner.

     Fed the dog.

       Then finally got outside.

I sat on the front porch in the dusky dark of a November evening.

It’s so late.  I would expect they’d be gone!

I smiled, and shook my head at the unlikely sound,

then relaxed and luxuriated in the gift

of the harmonies of crickets.

This sound says

                   summer.

                 solitude.

              moon dance.

           dreaming.

      sweethearts stealing away in the season of warmth, growth and freedom.

        serenade of a happy summer sleep.

          holy activity – singing in the dark.

            happiness and contentment.

              wonder.

                quiet.

Even the air on my skin added to the poignancy of the moment

- too balmy for a November night. 

It was like being caught up in a sweet dream. 

But I knew I’d wake, that this was temporary.

It felt like a good-bye.

I have felt this wistfulness before:

The devastatingly sweet pull of longing

   that follows my departed mother’s spirit

      to a threshold I cannot cross.

Watching my son’s first dance with his new bride,

   each turn twirling him away from me

     to affix firmly to another life.

Seeing my fresh-faced daughter

   in the rearview mirror

     as we drive away, leaving her at college.

It’s hard when one season ends,

because we give up and have to let go of beauty

and a full heart,

letting it all pour out so that it can be filled again. 

Please let it be filled again.





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