At this time of year, I am keenly aware that summer is ending--that the hot, buzzing, long days of hot sunshine and refreshing cool of shade, running water and sweet ripe fruits are tapering down. Autumn is coming to silence the bees and cicadas, and will replace their buzzing with the sound of blustery winds swirling with golden leaves and the calls of the honking geese.  For me September is the epitome of transition, where I can't help but try to reach both forward and back, reluctant to let this go, but excited to see what is next. I have one hand reaching back, begging the blossoms that line the brook to keep smiling at their reflections and enticing their pollinators with the fragrance of summer to stay longer--so much longer. And one hand reaching forward, excited to see the crisp autumn days where the air feels electric and fresh, and the greens that hide a rainbow of colors in the trees will fade back so the fiery fall colors can set the landscape ablaze with new energy.  Like so many of the animals, I look forward to donning fuzzy warm layers and hustling to collect provisions needed to hide away in a cozy winter home. But like the tributary stream gradually depositing its cargo of summer life and detritus as it flows forward toward the river downstream, I must float onward (but slowly, I beg!), lingering as long as possible, but trusting that there will be something equally wonderful around the bend.