
5:43 a.m. The woods are quiet, and it looks pitch dark out the window at first glance. You have to look up to see a hint of light. Not so long ago the sun was up and the air full of birdsong at this hour.
In six months a 50-degree morning will herald spring morning; now it’s a promise of autumn chill. Life’s circles are baffling that way.
It is a season of cooling, although we surely have not lost summer yet. They say the high will be in the mid-seventies for the next three days, and there’s no real need to touch the jackets and coats that hang in the closet. I haven’t heard any geese honking toward the south or anything like that.
Still, the signs are there. The autumn equinox is less than a month away, and the sunrise has crept more than an hour later than it was two months ago. The other day we saw a tree with a splash of orange where it had once burst with lush green.
The end of August brings a dull heartache. The flaming beauty of fall will be here in a month or so, and in the meantime we have plenty of summer left to enjoy, but July and August are past.
We’re about to enter the time of fading and dying and cold and dark. Just as sure as dawn follows the dark of night, life will return and the green surrounding us now will follow what’s about to come. We will cling to the warm memories until they are reality again.



