Sooner or later, I had to admit, that it was no longer summer.
And that day has come, the trees on the hillsides are starting to turn red and orange and golden. There are ripe pumpkins bedecking peoples decks. And no more "sweet corn" signs; they have been replaced by "corn stalks" signs. the garden is bordered with St. Michaelmas's daisys, soft clouds of lavender blooms, how anyone can call them weeds is beyond me.
The Jerusalem artichokes have reached dizzying height and are about to burst into flower, they are like mini sunflowers on stilts. and why not because they are a member of the sunflower family. the hydrangea are a beautiful shade of dusty, rosey pink.
The light is no longer sparkling and strong, the suns angle is lower and the light is more golden, under the cloudless blue skies, it is pleasantly warm in the sun, but the shade is almost cold. In the mornings I watch the sun burn the frost off the roofs, turning from icy frost to rising steam in seconds. If I hang the laundry out on the line early the morning sun with turn the sometimes it will do the same
Apples , deep red globes, though not without blemishes, because after all these are wild apples are ready to pick. the garden still yields a few tomatoes, and the last of the potatoes; and the weather is perfect for this labor. Tiny frogs and huge earthworms and the ever present gnats can draw my attention.
The yard is filled with wrens, hunting for seeds in the freshly mowed grass. They seem to like to run from place to place, and for that reason I call them "little running birds".
~~Mickie Postle wander among trees on the path I used to walk forever is here
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