Final Green

 

Final Green

It didn’t help; I probably shouldn’t have done it.  But I turned on the local weather as I was pulling the laces of my hiking boots tight.  The radar was clear, but that wasn’t my main concern as it wasn’t supposed to cloud over and rain until later this evening.  And I could see as I opened the living room drapes that the sky was in fact clear and bluing.  It was the little box off to the right of the screen that I noticed; it simply said “42 degrees”.  I reconsidered my short-sleeved t-shirt.  I went looking for an old long-sleeve t-shirt to pull over it as two layers sounded a little smarter.

As I pushed open the screen door and stepped out onto the front porch I still let out a little involuntary “Oh”.  The saving grace is that there was no wind.  I think it was also waiting for things to warm up a little. 

It was another heavy dew morning.  The roadside grasses look crystalline as each blade catches a sparkle of sunlight. 

As I drew nearer to the ponds I couldn’t see the water because of the tall grasses and cattails, but I could see a layer of mist raising where the cool air softly kissed the water.

As I passed the ponds I was thinking about how quiet the morning was.  I didn’t even hear a squawking bluejay from deeper in the woods, or a crow – they usually are seen and heard flying across the fields to the south.  The cattails along the northern edge of the ponds are so tall that there are really only two small openings where you can even see whether any waterfowl are resting on the pond’s surface.  I didn’t see anything of life in either ‘window’. 

I had only just left the ponds behind me when suddenly a sandhill crane trumpeted.  That booming voice was the match that touched off a chorus of crane calls.  Even though I turned back to look, the grasses are shoulder high in many places, so it was impossible to see the cranes as long as they remained on the ground.  But just a minute or so later I caught sight of two cranes heading my way, one of them continued calling continuously, with each breath and wingbeat.  Several cranes were answering from behind.  The pair of cranes were obviously looking for breakfast.  They were maybe 100 feet high, but didn’t appear concerned about gaining any more altitude; they crossed the road maybe 50 yards ahead of me, heading north.  Soon a second pair of cranes, again with one of the pair constantly calling, followed.  Then, a third pair caught me off-guard because the were flying silently.  They were even nearer the ground than the other pairs.  As I made it to the next crossroads and looked north I could see all six cranes in the alfalfa right up against the cornfield.  Even in the early morning light I could see them clearly.  They are already in their fall gray plumage and they are in contrast to the corn that is drying down and half brown already. 

There is a bluebird on the electric line.  They have a very distinctive silhouette that gives them away even if they are too far away to confirm their coloring.  I’m not tempted to try to get close enough for a picture.  I played that game with several bluebirds two weeks ago.  Every time I thought I could get a decent picture and stopped to get out my phone, they would fly about 50 yards further down and resettle.  I never did get a picture even though I followed them for about a half mile. 

Even though the tall grasses are browning, and the goldenrod is blooming there is still ripening ongoing.  As I pass by the oaks I notice that while the acorns are now fully plump, they are still very green.  In the next few weeks they will ripen, turning a deep mahogany shade.  The acorns may in fact be the final green of a waning summer. 

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan