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Category: seasons

Strange Beauty

Strange Beauty

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A crisp blue sky today but I keep my eyes on the ground, on the ghostly traces of slurried salt, the feeble fist we shake against winter. Today is cold but clear, snow contained but not yet melted. It feels as if we might win this battle.

But I look closer, see the rimed crust of last week’s skirmishes, recall the slick side streets. We’re only where we are because the weather has cooperated.

What struck me on this morning’s walk was the beauty of whitened cracks in the pavement, what’s left from last week’s treated roads. The residue is most visible along the shoulders and in crevices once hidden, now outlined in white. It ought to be ugly, but is not. It reminds me of the vulnerability of the modern world, of how, despite our bluster, we fumble and we fail. And there is beauty in the failure.

More November

More November

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Novemberness is not a word, but I’m making it one with this post. Why shouldn’t we turn a month into a state of being? Melville did it: “Whenever it is a damp, dreary November in my soul…”

My experience with November is not as gloomy. I’ve always liked the month, the coziness of its early darkness, its lamplit afternoons. Thanksgiving brightening it, distracting us, and at its very end, the birthdays of two people I love.

The syllable “ness” turns adjectives into nouns: goodness, sweetness, faithfulness. The “ness” of “Novemberness” turns a proper noun into a quality or condition. Novemberness is the quality of being November, and this year we have more November to enjoy it.

I speak, of course, of the feast day happening in just two days and its placement this year, which is the latest it can possibly happen, given that it happens on the fourth Thursday of the month. Merchants are decrying it — seven fewer days to shop! — and devotees of Hallmark Christmas films are ignoring it and beginning their seasonal rituals anyway.

But I’m savoring it. I’m reveling in the stillness, in the few bright leaves that still cling to branches. I’m enjoying having more of a month that is too often rushed and folded into holiday folderol. I’m celebrating Novemberness.

Acoustic Season

Acoustic Season

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We come now to the acoustic season. On paths and trails, lawns and clearings, leaves pile and crisp. They gather in corners and culverts, land softly on hedges and hollies. And when I walk through them, they talk back.

They crinkle and crackle. They swish and snap. They carry in their once full-veined selves the memory of green days and insects singing.

You cannot move through them quietly. Even small squirrels make big noises when they play. Autumn leaves amplify our footfalls, reveal our passage. They keep us honest.

Catch a Falling Leaf

Catch a Falling Leaf

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On a walk this afternoon I spent more time than I intended trying to photograph leaves in flight. So many of them are swirling around that it seems I should be able to capture at least one or two mid-journey.

But either the light isn’t right, or they’re eddying about frantically rather than gently floating to the earth. Just as often, I spy the perfect slow-descending leaf but by the time I pull out my camera, it’s too late.

It’s a delicate business, like capturing a single snowflake or the down of a thistle. Perhaps it’s best left to chance.

Long Shadows

Long Shadows

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Yesterday’s walk was exquisite: bright sun, temperature in the 70s, leaves a perfect mix of green and gold with an occasional orange or russet in the mix. I found myself looking up most of the time.

I also noticed more shade than usual. At first I thought it was further proof of tree maturity, how the oaks and poplars bend toward each other, making a tunnel above the road. But a closer look showed me that tree tunnels weren’t creating this extra shade, it was individual trees casting long shadows.

This might seem a “duh” observation. It’s that time of year, after all. The light is lowering; shadows are lengthening. What struck me yesterday, though, is how nature makes dying beautiful. Because these mellow October afternoons don’t fool me for a minute. I know where they’re taking us. But maybe, just maybe, that isn’t such a bad place after all.

Creeper

Creeper

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The backyard is taking on an autumnal tone. Yesterday while bouncing on the trampoline, I spied traces of unexpected color in the shiny green hollies. At first I thought the lowering sun was playing tricks on my eyes, lighting up the trees from within.

Then I clambered down and inspected more closely. It was the Virginia creeper, lowly vine, thought a weed by some but looking its spiffiest this time of year.

How the yellows and oranges teased out the grandeur of those prickly bushes, made them shine. One of autumn’s many surprises, and a welcome one.

Holding On

Holding On

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Fall has arrived. It rode in on a heavy rain that pulled down twigs and leaves, littering the road with summer’s excess. 

Truth to tell, the trees are tired. They have been hanging on to their foliage throughout this hot, dry summer. They’re looking for an excuse to lay down their load. A heavy rain will do it, so will a brisk wind. 

They’re preparing for the great un-leaving, still weeks away, but imminent. The equinox is here, and with it a lowering of the light. I want to hold onto as much of the light as I can. Don’t we all?

The Bird and the Bee

The Bird and the Bee

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‘Tis the season of stoking up, and the local hummingbirds are doing just that. They’re hanging out near the feeders, sipping nectar and scaring off interlopers. 

Yesterday, I watched as an especially feisty bird sparred with a bee! Yes, a bee. Not a large bumblebee or wood bee, but a modestly-sized honeybee. 

The honeybee was stoking up too, you see, and this did not sit well with the hummingbird, who became increasingly territorial. 

At one point, it looked more like the bee was chasing the bird than the other way around. I wish I could have snapped a photograph of their aerial displays, but these are quicksilver creatures, best observed and admired from afar. So instead I’ll trot out one of the few decent photos I’ve ever taken of a hummingbird. It will have to do.

Reaching Maturity

Reaching Maturity

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Summer has hit its pinnacle. We have almost as much ahead of us as we’ve left behind. If we fudge it a little we can still call this mid-July. 

Which is all to say that the season has reached maturity. Greens couldn’t be greener.  Fledgling cardinals are coming into their own, flitting around with resolve, no longer with the wobbly flight of juveniles. 

And the cicadas! Their calls are the soundtrack of the season, wafting over me in waves. I omit earphones on my morning walks, the better to hear the summer bugs. 

Always I think: Let this last. 

Boiling Point

Boiling Point

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In case you haven’t heard, there’s a heat wave in the Eastern United States, with temperatures of 100 degrees, which will feel warmer with the humidity.

The chances are you have heard, though, because the weather folks have been beating the drum about this since Monday. Through lovely cool mornings and passable afternoons, we’re heard about heat domes, hydration and cooling centers. 

It’s not just a different kind of weather these days; it’s a different kind of weather report.  

(One of the hotter places I’ve visited recently: the Alcazar in Seville, Spain.)