She has spun her web in shimmering silver, capturing the morning light as the sun warmed the yews on which it lay. I watched silently, wondering if she knew that it would soon be cold, that she would have to seek shelter, abandoning this marvelous web.
Autumn calls us all to reconfigure our lives, to clean up, store, cosset, to get ready for the assault of winter. It is almost as if the spring cleaning that we all jump into as the weather warms is more appropriate as it cools down -so much to do.
The gardens are hanging on by sheer desire as the temperatures threaten. We’ve brought in the delicate plants that live indoors. Their summer sojourn gave them renewed vigor, new leaves, blooms, the signs of energy and promise. The economics of sunlight playing out with an unflinching hand and the shorter days, they must get along now with the reduced light of east-facing windows. The ancient Peace Lily will go back on her perch on the window seat in the dining room. A long ago purchase for five dollars, this plant has lived with us for more than 20 years, the same as the Norfolk Pine that came to me as a gift from the United Way in 2000. Then it was a desk plant. Now it’s a tree.
Before I retired, these changes were done in the interstices of work and home. Now, they are poignant reminders of the circle of the year, moving through our lives as our temperate environment dictates. Celebrating our preparation for the coming snow and cold, winter in reality as well as the winter we dream of depicted in the sparkling snows of greeting cards.
Wool replaces cotton. Jackets and sweaters are required as we refurbish last year’s outerwear for the coming seasons.
The fans which make us comfortable in our summer time house are put to rest in the attic and the matelassé coverlet is replaced with the comforter and quilts that allow us to sleep in a cool bedroom. The change of bedcoverings is a signal mark of the calendar’s movement. There is a special cupboard in which I’ve stashed the blankets, Afghans, quilts and coverlets that have sheltered our beds over the years. Some depict themes of sailing ships and princesses while others are quilts crafted by the expert hands of my sister. There’s even a rather ragged bedspread, one of four, that covered my childhood bed. Stored with copious amounts of lavender buds to keep the insect interlopers at bay, they are a history of sleepy heads on children’s beds, the history of tucking in, whether by hand or by wishes. Small things can have great meanings.
We will have the furnace checked, revisit the weather stripping on the side door where the cold seems to be able to sneak in, put the snow brushes in our cars, find winter footwear that keeps us vertical on slippery surfaces and think about warming meals of hot soup and stews and all that makes being inside during the winter cozy.
There’s a purpose here, a decided plan to take care of those we love, to wrap them in the warmth of preparing and caring.
So, I am getting ready for the sound of hot water in our radiators, the rattling of our old windows, the soft light in the living room where I will become involved in a good book rather than shovel the snow off of my car and the knowledge that I’ve done what I need to do for those I love.
