North side yard sports these peonies in progressive states of bloom.
Postured restful now having weathered recent rains, the eldest now nearly too heavy for itself.
Soon, a good dose of sun will raise and swell these blossoms before they, as peonies always do, finally abandon to gravity.
Still morning, time of literal reflection,
considering self’s perception,
realizing world’s objects and reflections,
sometimes appear identical.
On the first clear day in several, on the way from car to back door, my glance was drawn through withered pear tree branches.
A familiar motion of far away lazy tail betrayed horses, apparitions, flashing brilliant white, deep in distant swollen green freshening meadow.
Habitually turning toward home, thinking not much of noticing the horses in their pasture, in a very few steps I realize it’s been many many years since horses pastured here.
It’s not typical for cold to come so soon and stay.
Nor typical, so much wet for so long.
Surely Summer would have rained itself out by now.
Yet, through Autumn, threatening into Winter, wet.
Still nice to see familiar pastel Winter shades.
Even if sooner than expected.
Even if wetter than usual.
An early appointment the day of the storm had me awake closer to daybreak than usual.
As I walked across the living room, I noticed that the leaves of the houseplant, that “found it’s window” several years ago were trembling.
Even though they calmed to stillness when I stopped walking, I kept looking at the leaves.
I perceived that I saw them start to move again, growing, turning, yearning for pale dawn light.
Movement in the yard drew my eyes through the window, beyond the plant.
There, a sentinel doe draws attention from her young buck as they breakfast. His rack raw and white, velvet recently scraped, now ready for rut, ready for winter.
This birch, too close to neighbor hemlock, grows leaning, finds sun where it can. This wet pale October shows little more color than this birch scar.
Maple splashes yellow here and faraway there. Squalls alternate sun, blue and wet across the sky. Playful youngsters now, they’ll mature as real cold sets, getting running starts from west of Erie.
Almost snow today, cold to soon come. Any last colors will present, dry and fall as seasons deepen.
While enjoying the temperature and clarity of a fine October morning, the distinctive honking of geese punctuated an otherwise calm mist rising from the valley.
After what seemed like minutes, the gaggle revealed itself. Flying at a considerable altitude, these birds were not commuting across the neighborhood; they were on their way with intent.
From the back of the yard, a doe snorts, flashes buff from the tall grass, comes to attention, ears poised, eyes intent, gauging me as friend or threat.
The shadow crossing the sun and yard pulls my eyes up as a tree top turkey vulture pulses wings toward unobstructed sky.
Colors seep slowly stronger, gilding leaves and hills, on this fine October morning.
Yesterday, a brilliant cardinal came to, and knocked on the living room’s north window.
Given it’s persistence on wanting entry to the house, I wondered if the bird was someone I knew or had met before.
A bud vase filled with feathers found, hawk, turkey, and others, decorates the view from one of the living room’s east windows.
Drawn there today, the cardinal perched, then knocked again before taking to wing.
This pair has been habiting a Lyon street pond where, spring has recently revealed, beavers have rebuilt their den.
Dusk muted sunlight highlighted ripples as they regarded their reflections. Upon what they pondered, who knows.
Earlier, they had made their way with surprising urgency, swimming to where so fast, and why, only they knew.
It’s a pond. A very small pond.
Autumn’s rays, cast from shallow, near-winter directions,
illuminate unexpected places;
wisps of retiring meadow echoed in crisp cirrus sky.