The sumac is mostly turned red now. I can no longer pretend that the summer is still here. As much as I love fall, there is a part of me that wants to cling to the summer flowers and long days, begging them not to go. I didn't have enough walks, enough time to bask in summers glory. I didn't see it all.
But the wheel of the year turns, whether or not we want it to. Time to focus on the here and now. Fall. Bright blue skies, cool breezes, wet grass in the morning. Asters and goldenrod fill the fields and woods.
Bottle Gentian are blooming. Sneezeweed flowering nearby. The ground has finally dried up some, the river has dropped low enough that rocks form ripples in it's surface. Swampy areas are passable, if not too overgrown with fern and prickly ash. Cattails rise over my head, blocking any view of deeper waters.
Yellow shows more and more in the canopy. Soon the reds and and browns will come into sight. Strong gusts of wind send leaves scattering. Fall. It is properly named. Flower heads droop under the weight of seed heads, grasses bend and break as they come to the end of the season. The roots have stored away food and energy to get the plant safely through the winter months, the stems and leaves no longer required. They will break down and become energy for the next generation.
As I walk, color catches my eye. Fungi on the forest floor. Yellows and reds, browns and whites. All shapes and sizes. They are there only for a few days, and then are gone. So many that I do not have a name for. Always something more to see, something more to learn. I guess that is why the seasons change. So that there is always new reasons to learn, new things to see. Nothing in life is stagnant. Look now. Look again.