It happens every year at this time, no matter how hot is has been, no matter how implausible the pending cool weather may seem. The cicadas are loud and getting louder, their crescendo, a reminder we are approaching the end of summer, and the beginning of fall. Nature foreshadows it all for us with sounds and the shifting light and colors. It will be soon. But for now, it is still warm and the nights hold us in a cocoon.
I think of my mother having had the culmination of a summer season to help her move into labor long ago. The seasons do that — help us shift along with them.
Two snakes have left their skins on my front stoop. I pick one up and it feels smooth like satin. “Okay to touch this?” I ask a snake guru. “Why, of course,” he says, “It’s just dandruff now.” I chuckle at his remark, though true.
A reminder that as we outgrow one skin, it is ruptured and shed, tossed aside when the one below is strong enough to hold us. We cannot rush it any more than a snake can force its shedding before it is time.
Re-birth will happen soon enough. A new skin is almost fully formed and is glistening. Hold your ear close and listen to the crackling fire of transformation and the new season to begin.