JOY ALONG THE WAY: REARRANGEMENT COURTESY OF EQUINOX

So the autumnal equinox has come and gone that time in the year when the daylight and night hours are equalized. Did you see it? This year's September happening, always around the 23rd of the month, had a wet look. Its garments were tattered by time and dripping with rain. A few falling leaves were rain-pasted on its visage. It left a calling card in my back yard, a tossed-off limb from an elm tree and a multitude of spent leaves and twigs.

If I had no calendar or other means of telling the month and day date, I could still pinpoint the autumnal equinox. The sun, if it is shining, will send its rays directly through the east windows. There will be no slant either north or south. The little glass bluebird in the window casts its shadow exactly behind it. Partially rain-washed, the glass storm door shows streaks. I hurry for the glass cleaner and paper towels. I want to catch every ray of this direct sunlight for the days, getting cooler, no longer call for air conditioner and ceiling fan. Neither do they call for the awakening of the furnace. Welcome to the short, happy freedom from the high utility bill.

The prognosticators and politicians worry me with their predictions of fuel shortage and high prices. Maybe since I had the glass cleaner out, I'd better get all the windows clean so as to get some more solar heat inside for the winter and keep from freezing until the next spring equinox, March 21.

As I waddle (that's my new gait now) to pick up the fallen tree limb, I assess other things that need to be done in that area of the yard. The irises, in a little plot at the end of the back walkway, need to be dug up and re-set, throwing away many old and faulty rhizomes. This should have been done earlier but the proper time for doing it was so hot. Too hot.

I planted a columbine, a few years ago, in this iris bed. Big mistake. Columbines have taken over. Since their seeds are already fallen and sleeping snugly in the soil I'll await until next spring to do something about them. Good. Some bricks that enclosed the plot have been weather-heaved out of the ground. Some have sunken so low, they are not even a wall now. They, too, can wait until next spring.

Where I removed a pawpaw tree in this area, a few years ago, new sprouts continue to come up from the old roots. Better snap them off now before they gain strength over the winter.

I stand before the red blooming begonias. Their leaves are so shiny with health, but must decide if I want to carry them over the winter inside the house. This would entail purchasing a new, big red clay pot, clearing some place near the light to set it, watering and picking up the ever falling blossoms until warm days come again. Setting space is at a premium here and I'll be tending to hanging pots of spider plant and wandering Jew. The begonias may have to go.

The approach of the equinox marks the time when I must complete an annual autumn ritual: going after the persimmons. Luckily I don't have to go far. There are at least two such trees in the park. The SEMO District Fair interferes with this ritual and after the fair is over, many of the persimmons are squashed flat. But there are always a few to reawaken my persimmon taste buds. This year I've picked off the little four petaled calyxes the fruit rests on. Surely something artful can be done with these little bark-like flowers. They now rest on a window sill and each day seem to get a little smaller. If this process keeps on, the only artful thing I can do is to toss them in the waste basket. If they remain a suitable size, I'll pin them somewhere in my goldenrod ball.

At sunset each day I bid the sun a good journey on its way toward the spring equinox when all things will be new again.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.