Summer is coming to a swift end here in the Interior. Rain has been abundant, bringing welcome relief from the pall of wildfire smoke we’ve suffered under lately. I welcome the increased darkness, a herald of temps to come. No reason to hurry the first frost but to sweeten highbush cranberries. Hillsides have begun their morph from green to gold, yellow, orange, and crimson. Who might not appreciate the beauty of autumn?
I woke a few mornings ago before dawn, a half light deceptive to sleepy eyes. The garden lay silent, the deck shimmered in frost. Not wanting to believe summer utterly defenseless, I walked barefoot onto the boardwalk. No frost, but a heavy dew covered everything at ground level. Absent were bird sounds, insects buzzing among potato plants, sunlight peaking through trees as had greeted me the past ninety-plus days. This morning was chilly and damp, huddled before the formation of autumn’s advance. In the quiet, I surveyed the stillness, and bade a gentle farewell.