We are teetering on the edge. Sunny days, patches of rain. Snow. There. I said it. It could come soon, or wait until the depths of December. All we can do is live in the moment and the moment it is sunny and 50 degrees.
The white trunks of the aspen and birch stand out against the grays and browns of the other trees. They reach to the dark blue of the autumn sky. Dark red dots are all that are left of color on the sumac.
The grasses are now brown, but not yet beaten down with the weight of winter. Milkweed fluff is still hanging off the pods. The goldenrod heads have lost all yellow, now shades of brown and grey. Leaves have withered and fallen.
Juncos are popping in and out of the brush, scratching for seeds. Blackbirds wing overhead. Their calls flying across the empty fields. There is a sense of urgency in the wind. Things to get done before, things that can not wait. Everything seems to be hurrying, anxious to be prepared. Birds at the feeders enforce pecking orders. Biggest first, unless one is quicker. All feeding forgotten in the moments when a shadow passes by. Another being searching for a meal. Everyone is looking out for themselves, just trying to survive. But there are still flocks, working together to migrate. A few always on alert to warn others of impending dangers. Parents taking care of young, now as large as they are. We are all in this together.