Grazing the Corners
There are many ways to tell that the glory of summer is over and here in the western mountains of maine one of those ways is that the large and imposing leaves of the backyard pumpkin plants appear black, rackish and spent. They curl on themselves and become brittle, all life juices gone. They resist the urge to fall on the ground, they insist on posturing tall and protective over the small orange orbs at their base. The thrill of pulling the fruit from the vines is never quite the thrill I expect. I want to leave them intact, together, whatever their fate they have come along this far. I know full well that the reason is just not to leave them be but to extract one from another so that the joy of the harvest can be shared and know its fullness. I struggle to seperate them, I creep out in the dark thinking the leaves, giving their last bit of life, will forgive me or maybe even not notice that I have taken their reason to live away. But I do it and share the pumpkins with whomever I see, hoping they know the past, love the present gift and plant a seed for a new spring. Fall A mom knowing that children grow up.