One Mississippi. Two Mississippi…BOOM! All the chickens hiding in the red coop bunch closer together. Two black cats in the yellow house next to the red coop jump down from the bed where they’d been resting and run for cover. Every bee in the white hive next to the yellow house clusters a little tighter. The last, late season storm pushes through our small town, escorting summer out. Trees sway in the brisk wind. Fat, cool rain drops puddle in every crack and crevice. Watermelon and flip-flops are replaced with sweaters and soup.
Strong wings carry migrators to their temporary homes. “We’ll be back in the spring,” all seem to call as they depart. An explosion of vivid orange, yellow and burgundy, softly dots the autumn sky, each tree standing a bit taller in a proud display of brilliant color. “There you go!” chickens hear as they dart toward treats being offered. No picking them up right now. Molting has begun making skin sensitive as old feathers fall to accommodate warm, downy new ones. “Don’t worry my babies, they’ll grow back,” older, wiser eyes wink assurance to younger, less confident flock mates. ‘First-timers’ find comfort in the gesture.
Clucks and squawks and caws fill the crisp air. Feathers mix with fallen leaves and are piled together. One chore down, still to stack wood. Still to collect the rest of our garden harvest. The season has changed, bringing a night sky where the afternoon sun used to be. Air will soon be icy. A final look around. The hive is heavy and can barely be lifted. Plenty of honey will make for hardy bees during winter. There’s one at the entrance! Four perfect wings and a plump body, active. An ear pressed to the side of the hive — buzzing inside confirms colony health. Wings, once active in summer, used to dry nectar for honey and fan in cool air, stay still. Only flight muscles vibrate, creating plenty of heat in the hive.
Time for preparation is upon us. Focused but not hurried. Dry bales of straw are purchased and line the walls inside the red coop. Must be careful not to mix in hay. Premium straw only to protect delicate lungs. Freezer’s been stocked with fresh eggs – whipped and salted they’ll last for months. Garden vegetables made into stews and sauces share space in the freezer. Black cats in the white house enjoy the wood stove warmth. Invitations are received and given. Holiday plans are made.
Still and quiet is our town now, covered in a soft blanket of wintry white. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” calls the rooster in the yard next to the yellow house. “What is this stuff?” he seems to be asking. Snow plow and shovels clear the way. Guests will soon be arriving. Aromas escape an oven crack, tickling noses and watering taste buds. Reds and greens, ribbons and bows. Candy canes. Cake. A season of peace and thanks giving. The opportunity to secure roots. To grow stronger, To emerge re-energized and rested in the spring. Lingering hugs given with sincere appreciation for journeys taken. Prayers lifted for those not present.
Feeling blessed and happy in this yellow house with the white hive next to the red coop. Enjoying each season bestowed upon our small town. Reminiscing that summer waterfall hike with our kids (all my love to you two), looking forward to many more strolls in the autumn colored forest with a friend and her horses (so enjoy hanging out with you – special thanks to hubby’s helping hand), remembering happy smiles and shared meals with Z, our friend and neighbor (come over any time) and knowing springtime motorcycle rides with my honey are just around the corner (Love you! You’re the best!).
Rest now. Be easy. Be joyful. Enjoy every minute of every season. See the colors and inhale the fragrances. Perfect what it’s like to really live. Have peace in your heart. Give blessings to all. And lastly, don’t forget to embrace the wings and feathers in your life.
Cindy Bezanson