Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was over.
Already the iron door of the north
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows.
~Stanley Kunitz from “End of Summer”
Transitions, like summer fading to fall, are jarring. The silo of my life has thrown open its doors and the north winds start to blow.
I used to float the top of the grain flow more smoothly than I do now, believing I had control over the speed and course and ultimate destination.
I know better now.
Time carries me relentlessly down its silo, dunking me under its contents, only to surface breathless to gulp down what air I can before I go under again.
Each day I must admit a small part of my life is over, and each year I must admit the bulk of my life is over. The silo of time empties bit by bit, its hollowness echoing in my ears.
I hope the harvest will have fed others well.