The sun these past few days has been such a gift. This time of year mornings here in the valley are nearly always foggy but once it burns off, we find ourselves basking in a late burst of summer that is glorious. Even as a few Red Maples begin reminding us that Fall is not far off, the world—at least here in the northern hemisphere—is overflowing with life accumulated over a summer: sunshine wiggling, breathing, floating or flying, sunshine in a million forms and hundreds of colors.
Walking yesterday to the cliffs east of Marshfield, every step was greeted by spider silk in my face. The forest was lush with seed of all kinds—Basswood, Moose Maple, Red Oak—energy concentrated and banked for the future. Jewelweed literally exploding when you touch it, a crop of wild apples by the bushel.
Birds are coming through in waves these past few weeks, all fattening up for their migration journeys south. The Choke Cherries and Elderberries stripped clean by hungry young Robins. Goldfinches feasting on Jerusalem Artichoke flowers, gold on gold bobbing in the wind.
Of course, nothing stays “spring green” for long! Leaves are full of holes and cankers—food for one creature or another. Birds and spiders feast on the flush of insects even as the mosquitoes feast on me. Slow, undeniable changes. All will change suddenly and dramatically with the first frost, probably a week or two away, maybe around the next full moon (27th) as is often the case. And a month later the first snows will bring more changes.
I know of no way to hold on to this time of year. “Migrating” is not an option for me. So I do my best to enjoy and accept and learn to see the changes as part of how life ebbs and flows.