The Frogs are Gone

It happened so fast. Every year it happens, but each time we are amazed. In a rainstorm and then after strong winds most of the forest leaves have now fallen. The forest floor is soft and slightly damp. Underneath green foliage still grows. Now it is easier to move around the forest. We can see the neighbor’s house. We can see the huge granite rocks covered by emerald green moss. We can see tiny crevices and small caves where creatures might shelter, as the weather turns colder.
The frogs are gone. Summer birds have gone. I am back to breaking twigs to prepare them for fire kindling for the woodstove. The clothes don’t quite dry on the line. My fingers numbed hanging up the laundry earlier in the afternoon.

The Little Things

It is mushroom season, our conservation commission chair says. Saturday I was out planting bulbs, displacing some mulch in the process. Underneath bright purple mushrooms had emerged in the dank environment. These are some of my favorite mushrooms on our property. Underneath its cap the folds resemble the pleats of lush velvet curtains.

Ilumination

More unseasonably warm temperatures...in the 70's. Our forest is now dominated by the yellows of beech trees, making everything seem light and airy. The floor of the forest is now soft with leaves and the damp from rains from the previous week, rich soil in the making. I stood on this flat spot on top of a ledge, a place I had not yet been and looked down to the pond, the brook, the trail, a nice vantage point.

Red Earth

The fall colors light up the landscape, but the temperatures have been unseasonably warm. I wonder as the earth’s temperatures rise, if we will change our definition of seasons will have to change with it. For now we say it’s unseasonably warm, even if being warm has become the norm.