I became used to marking the passing of the seasons while living two decades at Halcyon Pond. But now I find myself adrift, having left the pond and its denizens behind. I now travel the circle of life alone, without my companion wayfarers. I no longer have their songs and their love stories and heartbreaks to guide me on my journey.
But the passing of the seasons are now part of my credo, of my spiritual engagement with the world. And so I gather new markers, lifeless as they might seem, and in so doing feel more sympathy with the builders of Stonehenge. When the world around you is barren, one must erect a temple.
Here, at the end of July, the sun has stopped peering in our northern windows. It has found new pastimes south of us, and no longer finds our doings so interesting. Our northern shades are no longer drawn. Strange that I prefer the prying eyes of our neighbors to that of the sun.