There’s something to the cool night air. At this season of life, around 10-11 pm each evening, I walk out onto the patio and into the yard with our trio of dogs. I never envisioned myself with a pack of lap dogs but here we are. The pack consists of Max, miniature dachshund, elder statesman, and ring leader, whom Santa delivered to my oldest daughter on her 5th Christmas about 15 years ago. Lucy, my youngest daughter’s Yorkie/Schnauzer mix is no spring chicken herself but remains the easy-going middle child of the three. Then there’s Scout, a paranoid, psychotic chihuahua blend of some sort, crazy as a loon, which my girls and their mother found wandering in the street one day and inconceivably felt the need to bring home.
Its late summer. The September days have arrived when the sun here grows intense before making its arcing turn toward the Southern hemisphere. Though the days remain hot, the dark brings enough cover for autumn’s air to start elbowing its way into the countryside. The stars are out glistening with ancient light that started on its way to my eyes even before the first human event was recorded. All the light we see, in fact, is from the past. The sun’s light, the closest natural light we have, is 8 minutes old at any second. But, there is no sun shining now. Only the stars. I can occasionally make out a few constellations—the little dipper, big dipper, Orion’s bright belt. An airplane usually flies over about this time of night-the commercial jet commuting back and forth between Atlanta and Valdosta. Heat lightning plays off in the distance, usually to the East toward the Atlantic or South toward the Gulf.
Frogs enjoy a dip in our pool when darkness falls. I used to pluck them out with the dip net but why deprive them of a night swim? They seem almost graceful under the clear water, diving and reaching for the shadows of the deep end as they sense my figure above them. The glare from the floodlights at the corner of the house causes the reflection of the pool’s surface ripple to dance off the apple tree, the pines, and the Viburnum at the edge of the garden.
Every now and then the dogs will tree the opossum that ventures into the yard. He may hiss at them from beneath the labyrinth of Pittosporum branches at the corner of the house or stare down blankly from the top of the crepe myrtle at all four of us with those cold, black eyes. The crickets and tree frogs are at full volume, the chorus of the night. Occasionally a barred owl or great horned owl will join in from somewhere out there in the unseen.
I like the way the cool paver stones of the patio feel to my bare feet. The stones have a rough surface to them and have natural contours. I seek out the ones that seem to form to the shape of my foot. Walking out onto the grass, I inhale its rich, fresh smell and feel the soothing dampness of the green blades between my toes like a kid. Its good to feel the earth on your skin. When the full moon is bright I like to walk on out into the garden and look at the white moonlight shining on the leaves of the grapevines, the peas, tomatoes, and satsuma trees. But, what I like most is the quiet. The day is done. This is the last thing I will do before settling in for bed. I find it easier to turn loose of the day’s troubles, thoughts, and plans out here, letting them float off into the darkness. Most nights, here amid the stars, the crickets and frogs, and the light dancing in the trees off the pool water, I’ll talk with God for a few minutes just to catch up. I’m pretty sure he likes the quiet too.
Eventually, Max comes hobbling back out of the shadows at the edge of the yard. This is the signal for us all to head back inside. Max and I are both aging and every time I look at him -muzzle turning grey and silver hairs peppering his black velvet coat, I am reminded of how brief is our time in this world. But, Max doesn’t waste that precious time with such thoughts. After all, there are treats to be had. He looks up at me expectantly with his old cloudy eyes and smiles in the satisfaction of another day. I pick him up to save him a few steps, climb the stairs on up to the porch and back into the house, where I turn off the light.
Thoughts From The Orchard 