Sure 'Nuff, It's Fall

The air is crisper and somewhat dryer, and even though we've been experiencing inordinately warm weather not truly reflective of the time of year, the deciduous trees seem to know their time has come. They haven't allowed themselves to become confused by the stick-around warm weather, and they're well into shedding their leaves, littering the ground below them.

We've had several successive nights of fairly heavy rain, and by morning everything glitters with sharp-edged, yet dewy colour. And out at night briefly, standing on the deck, you can hear the songbirds wending their way south, chirping encouragingly, softly to one another in their flight. Two days earlier, early morning, I watched a hummingbird flit from one flower to another, in the garden.

I worry lest the weather confuse that tiny creature, stimulated to remain where he is, succumbing to the serenity of the landscape, and the easy wherewithal; by all that easy slurping. And of course throughout the day, and at night time too, there are those collective arrow-shaped lines of Canada geese going south again. Inexpressibly sad, although autumn is a pleasant enough time of year, gifting us with wonderful colours.

Still, it marks summer's decline and the imminence of cold weather, eventually lapsing into winter. Now, when we amble through the woods during our daily ravine hikes our boots crush dry leaves and they crackle, sending up waves of fall-scented tannin. Despite the overnight rain, the creek is running fairly shallow.

We're surprised to see dragonflies back again. And robins, lots of robins in the vicinity of the ravine. After the apples fallen off the wild apple trees. Many of the trees are already half-bare, and there are more crimson maple leaves on the ground than on the boughs of trees. The sumacs still hold on to some of their burning leaves, but they too are almost completely shed.

There's a coral-coloured mushroom set into the base of a tree trunk, glowing warmly, almost lit into a modest fire by the revenant sun, itself shy for the most part, this day. And because it has chosen this very time to clear its way through the otherwise darkly-cloudy sky, something odd happens to my poor camera. It is refusing my commands to commit to memory the scenes we both espie.

Button and Riley linger for more prolonged periods of time at various points of ravishing sniffing opportunities. I wonder whether they have any awareness of the passing of time and the seasons, recognize a 'difference' in the air associated with another time of year.