There is something incredibly nostalgic and significant about the annual cascade of autumn leaves. – Joe L. Wheeler, Professor, author, editor (1936-)
What is normal at any given time? We change just as the seasons change…So nothing is ever quite the same. – Sherwood Smith, American fantasy, science fiction writer (1951-)
By October 2, three fourths of the year had passed. On election day 85% of the year is gone, leaving 54 days to enjoy the rest of 2023. As a young person I wanted to get older. I would round my age up. I don’t tend to round up these days. Instead I look back and wonder how those younger days slipped away. Nowadays I tend to want everything to stay exactly the same when in actuality very little remains the same. The only change I like is if I made the change. I’m good with my own changes but don’t often change anything. Routine is my friend.
Take the weather. One day we are working up a sweat while tending to the yard and garden and watching the hummingbirds at the feeders, and the butterflies and moths on the massive display of petunias. The very next day we are warned freezing temperatures will come through in two days. Adhering the warning all petunias, gardenias, four-o’clocks, impatiens, zinnias, dianthus, two poinsettias from last Christmas, a palm tree and banana tree, along with various others are packed into the greenhouse before early morning temperatures drop into the low twenties.
Morning came and the temperature was 26 degrees. Wilhelmina, the cat, is usually waiting to get outside. The door was opened. She stepped out, turned around and came back inside. She would later go outside when the sun had warmed things up a little. She doesn’t like change either.
About the time Wilhelmina went outside we heard the beep, beep of the propane truck backing up in the drive. The propane man was out checking on propane users getting ready for the cold spell. Seeing the propane man is always a sign of the weather changing. Wilhelmina fears large trucks and ran under the house. She’ll appreciate the propane when cold comes.
There are few leaves on the wild black cherry tree. Most of the ground is covered with a variety of leaves; looking like a leaf carpet. The grass is brown and will probably not be mowed again before spring. Deer have moved in closer and most mornings are seen grazing under the trees. Three wild persimmon trees have fruit the deer like. Squirrels have run off with most of the pecans.
Other critters bide their time here. A three-day old rotisserie chicken was in the refrigerator and needed to be disposed of. I zipped the bag and took it on the far side of the pond. It was strategically placed not close to the water and not close to the tree line. With binoculars I could see the open area from the kitchen window. I hoped to see the critter. The night was too dark; the next morning the zipped bag was opened but not torn, and the rotisserie chicken was nowhere to be seen. Likely the critter was a raccoon with those five long fingers or a possum with four fingers and a thumb. ’Tis the season.
Shannon Bardwell is a writer living quietly in the Prairie. Email reaches her at [email protected].
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