The Last of the Summer Wine
Passed . . .
Another summer still tries to hold onto the light. On this day of the Autumnal Equinox, I am sitting by the fire pit, watching and feeling the exact, brief, mystic moment when night and day share equal time. I toast the moment and raise my glass to taste the last of the summer wine, a sweet Scuppernong with the aroma of fruits, nuts and berries preserving memories of the season just passed.
Midnight drives through the warm air on winding country roads, top down, classic rock screaming above the roar of the engine as Bob Seger reminds me that I am, after all, just running “Against the Wind”.
The summer sun has gone down in the west and I glance to the east to capture the final flickering remnant of light as a ray reaches the very tip of the tallest lofty pine. It fades, yet the branches seem to be reaching, reaching, still unwilling to give up the light.
Suddenly the soft gasp of a summer breeze lifts the upper most bough ever so slightly and it catches the light one instant more and, there! The final, brief, sparkling contact and then . . . Gone! Nature yields yet again to the Old Wisdom of the Architect, eclipsing our human technology.
I finish the wine, feeling grateful to remain a part of the eternal exchange.
It was a very good summer.
It is a very good life.
It was a very good wine . . .
The Last of the Summer Wine.