Around here (Massachusetts, U.S.A.), it is a good time of year to see what is sometimes called the intertwining of all things.
I am thinking of my backyard.
There, the grass is still a lush, emerald green. But sprinkled on that lawn, like some delicious salt and pepper, are orange and yellow and brown leaves that have started to trickle from the nearby trees.
Summer is obvious.
But so is autumn.
Where is the line between the two seasons we so casually separate with our adjectives and nouns? In words, there are two things. In smarmy realms, everything is one. But neither approach brings any real peace of mind.
The whole matter is so simple that our minds and lips are comfortably sealed. Every blade of grass and every leaf giggles like a school girl: "Shhhhhh! Shut up! Don't be a twit! Enjoy yourself!"