The last of summer closes in. This morning an overcoat of grey hangs heavily over Walden. The promise of September, October when shedding coats of color reveal what is hidden in shadowy yesterdays. This morning the sun, choked, does not unravel the texture of the day.
It is early and I drive in sleep walkings. My alarm waking me out of medication. This too-early-rising greets a must in mother me to deliver a soccer daughter to practice. So I follow my need to Walden. Sweater to counter the cooling air overnight.
The parking lot belies the presence of pond wanderers. The beach quiet except for a half dozen swim figures. I am one, not yet wrapped in shiny black. I wait until the last ounce of summer is squeezed out of the jaws of Walden until I become sleek like fish.
The water greets me warmer than the morning. Turbid grey green reflection of the sky. As I churn arm-overs to counter my chilly reception I think swim in forrest green glistening, the mirror of stillness. The summer evening two, three nights ago when I unzipped in her the shadow of the sky. Not today, when the sky falls heavy on me.
Such changes Walden learns to accommodate. I mirror her in my letting go of breath and breathing in again. Glide in her timelessness. Being not thinking. Letting go and moving on.
I see the golden Buddha in my sight line, remembering the mantra that sings in the pond since his blessings dissolved in Walden. I want to emanate that presence, that perfect stillness that eludes my mind. Only half across the pond and already a million thoughts of children, summer, friends I have left undone, and those I have not done well flicker like candles burning at my insides.
The close of summer, the transitions, they always do this. This reminiscing over what is gone, lost for another year.
Yet only last week I told my son of new beginnings, of the new dawning that roles beams of light to path us from behind and lead us forward.
I should listen to my own implorings, for leading the way, I sometimes forget to follow.