Monday, September 22, 2014

Fall Is Here...

Behind me, in the east, the horizon is dark. Low hanging clouds drizzle rain. The smooth surface of the pond is disrupted and pocked with a million dimples. To the east, there is another layer of white, a strip of light blue, and then another layer of gray that is perforated with cerulean openings. Tree tops, that form a serrated edge against the horizon, are cloaked in shrouds of mist and fog. A lone crow passes above squawking.

A couple of weeks ago the expanse of the pasture was mowed. Now, blades of grass have recouped from the churning and whirling of the giant clippers drawn by a chugging tractor and respond to the sun and rain. Regenerating, they reach out to the weakening sun as a new fall gains momentum. Paving stones wet with precipitation glisten. Sweeping paths curl around the ivy and ground cover. Moss, that withstood summer heat and its parching sun, is turning greener.

From the eaves of the farmer's porch water droplets yield to gravity and fall to the flower beds and shrubbery. Leaves drop, too. On the north side of the giant pines, their callous skin of bark is darkened by rain that has been driven against their ragged exterior. Acorns fall on the tin roof of one of the outbuildings and bang loud enough to startle me.

Out on Holland Road, cars carry their passengers east and west. I can see them, but they can't see me. They create the only sights and sounds of a civilized world beyond The Shire. Bluebirds have returned, if only for a few days, and the Japanese Maple reminds me that summer is over. Its foliage is a mixture of diminishing greens and increasing reds, yellows, and orange colors.

Bow hunting is now legal, and the seldom seen deer are aware that the once quiet forest has an added danger. I watch them. Every noise raises their suspicion. Ears, like radar dishes, turn to receive maximum sound. Through my binoculars I can see their nostrils flare to pick up non-woodsy scents. Their senses are on full alert.

I look forward to the temperatures dropping and wood popping in the outdoor fireplace. Kindling has been gathered. A neatly stacked row of firewood has been drying throughout the summer. Soon, flames will crackle, as their hungry tongues lick up the stored energy and reflect off the placid surface of the pond. Light will leap and dance as night sounds echo beyond its influence.

Fall is here...

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