In the Meld
The first day of autumn happens in a couple of days
according to the calendar. Nature,
though, has her own timetable that never fits neatly into human context. That’s because none of the seasons has an
exact beginning or end. It also wouldn’t
be correct to describe the turning of seasons as a blend, although that
description gets closer to the experience.
The difficulty with blend is the suggestion that you have two distinct
parts, in this case summer and autumn, and as they come together they become a third
part. Rather, the seasons do a little
tug of war as each dominates over at least a good month of transition.
This leads to some contrasts. Just this morning as I walked by the pond of
the nature conservancy up the road three sandhill cranes stood on one
shore. The cranes are early March
arrivals – their raucous calls fill the still-frozen marsh and seem to help
shake the last of winter’s frost out of the ground. After a couple of weeks of daily new arrivals
gathering each morning and evening, they pair-up and head out to various wet
areas and farm fields to focus on rearing this year’s brood. During the summer,
just like the whitetail deer, they grow
reddish in color. Now, the cranes are
beginning to flock-up again ahead of the pending southward migration which may
not actually occur until early November.
Until then, each dawn and dusk will be filled with crane music. Their feathers are turning back to the tan
and gray of the cold months.
On the opposite shore two snowy egrets, similar in
shape, stature and preferred habitat, bank against a backdrop of still lush
green cattails. The egret’s color is
bright and constant. If I only saw these
two and not the cranes, I wouldn’t have even given the changing of seasons any
thought.
The tall grasses beyond the cattails are already the
tawny brown of cougar. It stands straight
and stiff in the building morning breeze.
Tall coreopsis stands a full seven feet high and fills the view with
bright yellow flowers that still sing to summer.
I watch the birdfeeder and there are so many
goldfinches attacking the thistle seed feeder that it looks like the feeder
itself has enough wing power to take off.
Still, in the two hours that I watch I only see two bright yellow
males. Rather than assuming that the
ratio of female to male is running about 50 to 1, I surmise that many of the
males have already begun to fade into their drabber, safer winter plumage.
The goldenrod dominates many of the fallow fields, and
has already begun to fade, but the purple aster is just starting to bloom, and
it satisfies the many varieties of butterflies that are still fluttering about
as if it were still July.
The sun has been June warm for almost the last two
weeks, but the air is much drier. So,
even in the midday heat, the humidity lacks the oppressiveness of August.
high in those glossy green leaves, acorns are beginning to drop even though they are still green and not the chestnut brown that they will be in October.
This is the way of turning seasons. Each takes its turn leading the dance until
the transformation to the coming season takes full hold. It is a reminder to take life slow, to notice
the detail, and appreciate the now.
His Peace <><
Deacon Dan
Photo by Stephanie Klepacki on Unsplash
Photo by Alexander Klarmann on Unsplash
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