Horseback on Sunday morning,
harvest over, we taste persimmon
and wild grape, sharp sweet
of summer’s end. In time’s maze
over fall fields, we name names
that went west from here, names
that rest on graves. We open
a persimmon seed to find the tree
that stands in promise,
pale, in the seed’s marrow.
Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray,
not for a new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye,
clear. What we need is here.
~Wendell Berry

It’s happening. If we are awake and aware, we can feel it’s coming. If we allow ourselves an open heart, if we are not moving too quickly or loudly, we can glimpse it just outside our forward vision. Change is all around. This season of warmth we call summer is moving offstage like the aging star it is while making room for the newest ingenue to enter the spotlight: Autumn.

As early as last week, while walking the streets of the State Fair, bathed in sweat in the too hot temperatures, we were startled out of our humid stupors by the sound of geese overhead. Looking up we knew we were a part of the grand production of the turning of the world. Smiles crossed our faces and we knew, even in that moment, that the heat that held us captive would soon subside. In a few days. In a few weeks.

And it did, it has. On my morning walk, more geese dotted the clear, blue skies making their going-south ‘V’ across the expanse of heaven. They could feel the change even before we human ones could and have begun making plans for their own winter vacation. Sights along my path also showed signs of this change. A woman sat on her porch reading a book in the early morning freshness. This porch has been empty in the warm, summer mornings. But she knew. The time for being outside in such a relaxed state will soon be gone. Take advantage of it.

As the grass becomes brittle and golden colored, the trees overhead are showing signs of their own change. A few are starting their own slow descent into brilliance and the fine art of letting go, the gift of this season. Reds, golds, oranges are peeking through reminding us that change is often beautiful, artful, surprising beyond belief.

It is a fine reminder of this ‘ancient faith’ to which we are all baptized. Birth. Life. Death. Rebirth. Over and over again it goes singing its hymn: ‘What we need is here.’ And so we quiet our hearts, we wipe the veil from our eyes, praying not for a new earth or heaven but for the grace and wisdom to be present to the here, the now.

It is all we need.