the sycamores turn first

The sycamores turn first, in August.

I don’t know if it it’s the dry heat, or if they just know fall is coming.

The tops of the trees look sparse, leaves a little yellow and crispy, and then a few leaves fall to the ground. We are still running and splashing and pass right by them.

They are wide and open like the palm of a hand.

Then I notice a few yellow maple leaves.

It’s September now. It’s cooler at night. The pool is closed, we’re opening windows in the morning for fresh air. The garden is drying up and we’re turning soil to plant greens.

We’re still mowing.

Afternoons are hot.

The boys are back in school.

A few more gray hairs at the hairline.

It’s been another year of Covid. One with seasons of grief, worry, and hope. In early winter, hoping for renewal. In spring, vaccines and optimism. In summer, a little aimless, drained and fatigued. And now fall, preparing to start again.

We haven’t worked on the house much in 2021. We had the attic skylight in my office replaced, finally! We replaced the heat throughout the house after a very cold 10-day stretch in February. We arranged for landscapers to work around our front door and tractor shed next month. We made time to mulch, garden, and eventually prime the tractor shed doors.

I’ve been wanting to make things beautiful again. Arranged, curated, balanced, somehow artful and under control. It’s felt like surviving for a long time. We find time for fun, let go of plans, and allow a little chaos. But I would like for it to feel beautiful.

So I spend time picturing the flowers by the door, pushing furniture around in the living room, or planning the fall garden and waiting for soil to arrive. I daydream about adding new chairs or a lamp by the fireplace. To make our durable, comfortable home feel more intentional than accidental.

I celebrated my 37th birthday last week. A week before that, I started a new job. School is in session and we have more help now. We are more practiced in life at home, and in some ways prefer it. We go out occasionally for dinner and try to stay outside around other people. The kids are content to play together, endlessly, and are growing taller and more independent every day.

We have all changed so much in the last 18 months. We’re not who we were!

I plan less. I prepare more. My social circle is smaller. I worry less about how I look but more about what my kids see. I am confident and focused in my work. I am selective. I dress comfortably. I waste a ton of food and plastic. I get tired easily. I am more grateful.

I see a few more wrinkles and gray hairs by my hairline, which I attribute more to the stress of the last year than anything else. My body has been hurting. I experience plenty of rest and stress and sun, but not enough attention and nourishment. I am learning to watch the signals.

The sycamores turn first, and I notice now. Pale-barked and yellow-topped. The bugs sound different, too.

This fall I’m learning to pay attention.