I write so much less than I’d like to, or maybe what I imagine I’d like to. For a good part of this cursed Summer of 2020, I’ve had an outline of some thoughts about leaves I wanted to express. It’s something in late Summer that catches my senses. In the formal, professional, work world, there’s a weird dynamic where you wonder on which day is it that you are supposed to start perseverating (I know I’m wrong here, a word I picked up from my wife many years ago) about the end of what you want to continue and the forced start of what you have no interest in. In Summer, late July brings a kind of similar thought and feeling.
Summer is dead. The time for getting ready for something else, something not yours, is coming. I see it in nature, in particular in the trees and their leaves. They’ve reached deep maturity at this time of year, their green is not delicate, but dark and matte. There’s an exception though – the Ginkgo tree. It behaves like an adolescent when it needs to have the proper solemnity. Ironic, given that it is ancient from an evolutionary perspective. But I envy that Ginkgo.
I have more on this but am pausing for now.