First of Fall

The corn field is all brown stubble; the corn has been gathered.  The pink and yellow cotton blossoms are turning into bolls.  Acorns are pinging on the tin roof over the porch, and the magnolia pods are bursting with red seeds.  The poke berries are purple, reminding me of the days when we used to mash them and make our own ink.  Spider webs are everywhere, as their spinners seek that last bit of nourishment.  Bees are foraging on goldenrod, swamp sunflowers, and chives gone to flower.  Butterflies have emerged from their cocoons and are getting ready to fly away or leave their eggs to over-winter. The hummingbirds have already left.  Some of the chickens are molting.  The horse and dog and goats have not put on their winter coats but they will soon.  

At Yale, we sang the alma mater with this line:  “The seasons come, the seasons go. The earth is green or white with snow.”  I feel the season going, the season of summer with its golden corn and wildflowers and green fields.  There is a touch a fall in the air when I walk out into the morning.  The seasons come, the seasons go.