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