It is the long season of ripening. Time to harvest solitude in the bare branches of the trees. Sing wind! The squirrels are plump, making slow scrambles up the maple trees. I walked with my new friend, B., this morning through our town. We spoke of technology and nature while our dogs sniffed poetry in the dry grasses. Yesterday, driving my mom to Midway airport, I saw a hawk catching a thermal over the industrial vastland where people eke out a living. It hung in the air, wings spread wide, spiraled, spiraled, beyond the DesPlaines, searching. Three warm days and my body was tricked into longing for summer again. But winter is on the cusp. The bare branches bear witness.
Look out your window. Better yet, GO OUTSIDE. Unplug. Live a little. Above all…Love.