Summer’s Slipping Away

Two large Japanese maples stand just inside the southern point of my property, providing three-season privacy from oncoming traffic headed north to the Colrain/Green River roads fork. These ornamental trees bud in pastel red and grow brilliant scarlet leaves that fade to a soft, olive-green before bursting into their brightest fall cardinal-red. They then shed their leaves and expose my white home like a beacon centered in the view from down the road. Showy twin harbingers that
differ slightly in color, the trees are today hinting their vibrant fall glory. Soon they’ll scream of winter’s chilly approach, a loud foreboding before all is white and gray and barren, the forest floor open to even the dimmest moonlight.

My Far Eastern trees are not the only signs of fall on the landscape these days. Flowered rose of Sharon bushes are displaying random yellow leaves. Ripe apples are dropping to the turf with their subtle thud. Male staghorn sumacs are sporting their pre-frost reds. The saucer-like Queen Anne’s lace have gone to seed — used for centuries as contraception — fists clenched and drooping as distant baying of flocked geese penetrates low, gray morning skies. Soon the report of guns from September goose and bear hunters will pierce silent mornings from afar, signaling the start of another type of fall harvest as the wheel harrow squeals through spent summer croplands.

Where has the summer gone? The same place it always goes. Nothing new.

Soon harsh winter winds will freeze our frosty breath to facial and nasal hairs. I can’t say I dread it. For what? I am a four-season New Englander; love the ebbs and flows, the hots and colds produced on our northern stage. I call it home; could have fled long ago; didn’t; won’t. It’s what I know and love.

Ooops, gotta go. Blue Sky’s dumping my first load of cordwood out back. One more sign that summer’s on its last leg.

Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.
Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Mad Meg theme designed by BrokenCrust for WordPress © | Top