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Category: seasons

Weather Denier?

Weather Denier?

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It was 35 when I woke up this morning, a temperature that I associate far more with winter than with fall. It’s too early, I want to shout from the rooftops, knowing of course, that the weather gods will ignore me. 

But maybe I should not go gently into that (not) good night. Maybe I should be a weather denier, one who strolls through gales in shirt sleeves and shorts. 

Unfortunately, I’m just the opposite. Right now I’m wearing two layers of wool and one of cotton, and my warmest stretchy pants. One of my sweaters has a hood. I’m feeling a bit bulky … but almost warm. 

(Looking at last week’s beach shots to warm myself up.)

Ignoring the Roses

Ignoring the Roses

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It’s nothing personal, but sometimes I ignore the second bloom. Roses seem out of place this time of year — even a tease. 

Their petals are so smooth and soft, not fluted and dry like the chrysanthemum.They belong to spring, to longer days and shorter nights.

But here they are, a final benediction, a farewell to summer. So I try to take them philosophically, to see in their freshness a promise of spring.

Changing of the Guard

Changing of the Guard

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The beach was only five hours south, and I was away only four days, but I returned to a world of autumn color, more than I’m used to this time of year.  A shot of cold air must have shocked trees into turning. 

It was a pleasant surprise, a suitable homecoming for mid-October, as if while I was gone there had been a changing of the guard.

As I write this post, a shiver of wind shakes yellow leaves from the poplar and the witch hazel. The leaves are dancing as they fall, swirling to earth, covering the lawn, which has seen better days.

Yesterday I left summer behind. Now … it’s fall. 

The Harbinger

The Harbinger

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It’s happened here, and no wonder. The recent rain and chill have probably driven them to it. Or maybe it wasn’t the weather at all. Maybe it’s just their time.

Whatever the reason, the dogwood leaves have begun their march to extinction, their lovely russety turning. And berries have formed, their brightness a contrast to the subdued tone of the leaves.

I look at the dogwood a lot these days, since Copper likes to stand near it while we’re outside. And it has become for me a harbinger of another season, one of burnished brightness and long, still nights. 

The Departure

The Departure

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Often this time of year I write about the departing hummingbirds. It’s become a seasonal ritual, my sadness at seeing them leave every fall as dependable as my excitement at seeing them arrive every spring. 

The melancholy of September is necessary, then, part of the cycle. It’s the only way (short of their year-round residency) to see them again. They must leave in order to return. 

I thought I had seen the last of the hummingbirds a week or more ago, but on Monday I spied a small jeweled creature first at the feeder and then, moments later, hovering right in front of me.

Perhaps it had come to say thank you … or perhaps to say goodbye. 

Perfect Peaches

Perfect Peaches

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It’s as if the peaches had been practicing all season to look this rosy and smooth-skinned, this thoroughly delicious.  “Last big picking,” they were billed, giving those of us who’d come to haunt this particular booth at the Wednesday farmers market ample warning: don’t expect this fruit again until next July. 

I felt the same tug in my heart I’m getting when I notice turning leaves or lowered light. 

But who can complain when the tilt of the sun produces peaches like these? 

(The astute observer will spot an interloper in this photo. I threw in a lemon to keep the peaches company.)

Last Walk of Summer

Last Walk of Summer

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It felt much the same as other summer walks, this last one before tomorrow’s equinox. I left too late, not unusual for me, and got caught in what passes for rush hour traffic in my neighborhood, parents and buses rushing to school. 

I wore a sweatshirt that I tied around my waist at the halfway point. The birds were a little less chirpy, the cicadas nonexistent, so it lacked midsummer’s buzz and shimmer. 

But as I write this post on the deck a desultory cricket chirps and pools of light and shade dapple the backyard. 

It will be close to 90 today, and the grass needs mowing. It’s still summer. 

Lulled into Fall

Lulled into Fall

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Mornings are cool enough that I’ve worn a long-sleeve tee-shirt on my walks the last few days. Even if I roll up my sleeves halfway through, I start out warmed against the chill — chill being a relative term these days, anything below 65. 

Still, the handwriting is on the wall. The handwriting of seasonal change, that is. Oh, there will be more humidity. It will crank up today and last for a while. Birds will still perch on the rose bush and flutter in the azalea. 

But days are shorter (I came in before 8 last night) and leaves are turning yellow. It’s the mellow month of September, lulling us into fall. 

Stoking Up

Stoking Up

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The hummingbirds are stoking up, preparing for a heroic flight to southern climes. Which means I’ll make another batch of nectar and enjoy the show. 

Although the tiny birds have been scarcer around the feeder this year, preferring to take their sustenance from the nearby zinnia garden, they’ve been topping up with the nectar,. And now that the days are waning they’ve been sparring with each other to imbibe the sugary syrup.

They zoom one way and then another, bobbing and feinting to reach their goal and sip their fill.

It’s one more sign that summer is winding down. But at least it’s an entertaining one. 

Stereophonic Summer

Stereophonic Summer

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The cicadas are back today, or maybe it’s just that I’m outside, in a better position to hear them.  Their shimmering sound is stereophonic, flowing from one side of the yard to the other. 

How evocative it is! How it distills the summer. It is chorus and verse, call and response. It is fecundity and humidity and all the other parts of the season that make us (or at least me) feel so alive. 

Today, however, it’s competing with the sound of chain saws, which it often does these days. But I’m tuning out that white noise and focusing on the cicadas instead.

(Photo of cicadas from last year’s Brood X.)