Summer’s Last Dance

If I promise not to sing, will you forgive me posting about trees one more time?

No doubt your thinking; “What is his fixation with trees?” Well, when you live in the center of a forest, whether good or bad, they are my constant companions. They are the dominant visual force no matter which way you look.

As you know, my trees have not been kind to Bruce this year. But now they are trying to win favor with me again by dressing for The Last Dance of Summer.  It’s a slow seduction that started 3 weeks ago. Like a very subtile strip tease with the trees shedding their temporary colors and gradually exposing  their underlying true colors.

I am very slowly  forgetting and forgiving the relentless attacks of a few months back, but then again colored underwear has that kind of affect on my memory.

The coming of fall is always a bitter sweet yet reflective time. There is a calmness as the lake quiets and there is a noticeable absence of bird calls. They are replaced by crunching leaves  underfoot and the crisp but whispered wing beats of water fowl as they prepare for the epic journeys that they are about to embark on.

The big-tooth aspens and birch, as they yellow, make a blue sky seem bluer. The slightest vesper of a breeze causes them to chatter amongst themselves with rumors of winter. Like golden doubloons they cascade to the ground if the same breeze should freshen.

The nights have certainly cooled, the tired sun has booked his flight to South America. Each day he sinks a wee bit closer to the horizon as if he’s sneaking away and we won’t notice his escape.

The woodlands though, give his plot away. Like a carnival send off they shed their green hues and try to coax him back with resplendent dresses and petticoats that they have been hiding all  summer. They know they have little chance to lure him back, but  maybe…just maybe.

With the shorten days even I feel the need to hasten my work load. Splitting wood, storing deck furniture etc. There’s an urgency that is subliminal. Leftovers from a time when our earliest kin would harvest, hunt, and sew winter clothes before their world would be shrouded. The long time is coming and a silent refrain keeps echoing in one’s mind…”Have I done enough” “Have I done enough?”

“Autumn, the year’s last, loveliest smile.”

William Cullen Bryant

 

 
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This entry was posted in Autumn, Dis n Dat, Fall, Minnesota, Trees, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Summer’s Last Dance

  1. Rita Goranson says:

    No one is doing any seducing down here. It is just brown and dry with an occasional splotch of yellow. What a sad affair! The ponds, pools and puddles have dried up across the area. Clear Lake is down not inches but feet. I have never seen it like this before. Creeks have dried up. Willow Creek can be walked across. The Winnebago can be waded across in spots.

    We are beginning to wonder what our winter will be.

    Rita

  2. bmarzinske says:

    Hey Rita, I feel a little embarrassed that we have been blessed with timely rains most of the summer. If we needed rain we just pulled out the hoses to water and usually within a few hours it rained. We are now in a dry period that has put the fire danger into High. Birds have been passing threw. I sometimes have 20-30 flickers in the yard at one time. Hope you enjoyed the post. Bruce

  3. Rita Goranson says:

    Yesterday while out and about I did see some beautiful yellows with a smidgeon of orange tucked in there. It was nice. Mostly we have every shade of green and then brown. We have thousands of gulls at Clear Lake with the low water. There had been 59 Caspian Terns around but they left with the cool spell.

    No one is doing any seducing down here. It is just brown and dry with an occasional splotch of yellow. What a sad affair! The ponds, pools and puddles have dried up across the area. Clear Lake is down not inches but feet. I have never seen it like this before. Creeks have dried up. Willow Creek can be walked across. The Winnebago can be waded across in spots.

    We are beginning to wonder what our winter will be.

    Rita

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