Contentment

Morning-lit spider webs
waving in the breeze
backlit gnats 
hover like 
ghosts.

Mulberry trees rustle
squirrels scrabble
foraging 
for last
fruits.

Dewdrops on jewelweed
glinting at sunrise

water-soaked bumblebees
sip from orange
trumpets.

Ground crickets tinkling song
droning cicadas
as backdrop
I wrap my arms
around this moment.

Bounty

In offering this poem, I am aware that many parts of the country are not experiencing the bounty of the late summer season for reasons of flood and drought and fire. My heart is with you in lament.

 Blessed be the crickets and katydids
    whose voices are a choir.

Blessed be the cicadas,
    their song the sound of summer.

Blessed be the bluebird fledglings,
    making their way in the world. 

Blessed be the groundhogs,
    fattening on windfalls before winter's long sleep.

Blessed be the bumblebees
   slipping through the lips of turtlehead blossoms.

Blessed be the goldfinches
   gleaning seeds from coneflowers and Susans.

Blessed be the ruby-throats
    feeding and fighting on their way south.

Blessed be the mistflower
    offering nectar to swallowtails and skippers.

Blessed be the winterberry
    providing for hungry birds.

Blessed be this late summer stillness,
    slack tide between the seasons.

Blessed are we
    who open to the bounty that surrounds us.

        

        

Attunement

In the abundance of this waning season,
let me be turned to You, O God.
In the sunflowers' cheerful faces
and the Joe-pyes' frothy billows,
in the barn swallows' final flight
and the goldfinches' tinkling song,
in the cicadas' rhythmic whining
and the coneheads' high-pitched drone,
in groundhogs fattening,
and foxes foraging on windfalls,
in the the black gums' first reddening
and the jewelweed's golden glow,
in the myriad offerings of late summer,
let me be turned to You, O God.
Let me be turned to You.

Once Again

The light has turned. Every year it happens and every year it catches me by surprise. Just when I think summer will never end, it begins to wane.

The foretelling was there, of course, in the raucous hummingbird migration and the enfolding chorus of droning cicadas, crickets and katydids. Insect calls have picked up where spring's bird song left off and the surrounding woods are filled with rhythmic rattling and tinkling throughout the day and well into the evening. The birds are not entirely silent but they are collectively quieter now than earlier in the season. A couple of early morning wood thrushes trill, a single wood peewee whistles, a red-throated vireo questions, and then all is silent again, apart from the insects.

Monarchs float across the landscape, nectaring and laying eggs that will turn into this year's migrants heading to Mexico in a month or so. Lavender mistflower is coming into bloom, and early goldenrod and ironweed dot the roadsides, deep golds and purples, colors of royalty. Scattered here and there through the woodlands stand solitary black gums dressed crimson, harbingers of early autumn, soon to come.

Except for the manic hummingbirds, the season seems to pause, like the river that stills momentarily between the rising and falling tides. Such is an illusion however, as flowers set seeds, wild fruit ripens, insects mate and birds and mammals fatten for whatever lies in the months ahead. 

I am caught between savoring today's unfolding, and knowing what is to come. Predictably, I swing between exhilaration and melancholy, between breathing in the sweetness of each late-summer moment and grieving for what will soon disappear- osprey and barn swallows, butterflies and singing insects, flowers and foliage. 

O, to be like a child, living each day fully for itself, as yet unpracticed in anticipating change. And yet...might not this unwanted anticipation become the very fuel of my gratitude  for what is now ?

Trail Wood: Moments in September

First light, I step into the clear, cold, still September morning, quiet, but for the birds' restlessness...

Robins chipping, catbirds murmuring in the underbrush, blue jays calling in the distance and
red-bellied woodpeckers dining on woodbine. Grass drips with dew and pale sunlight touches the trees, leaves hovering between the deep green of summer and the colors of autumn, suspended in time.

Many of the meadow flowers have finished blooming, seed heads slowly drying. The fields belong to the goldenrods and grasses now, Indian grass and the bluestems, myriad shades of brown and gold, subtle, muted beauty... beauty of abundance found in seeds and sheltering stalks, already providing for the coming, leaner season.

Sleek, well-fed and rested, she stands, poised in silence, almost invisible in the meadow grasses. Catching sight of me, she startles and bounds effortlessly towards the woods, white tail flagging, beauty in motion, quickly gone.

It rises lazily, taking its time, lighting the treetops, bathing the meadows in white,

extinguishing stars in its brightness. Daylight, at midnight, stretches across the land.
True katydids call slowly in the chill, enunciating each syllable, "Ka-ty-did," "Ka-ty."
Tree crickets, mimicking spring's toad chorus, fill the fields with song, each trilling a different pitch.

Peace permeates the sanctuary tonight...nurturing, strengthening, enfolding...
Trail Wood beneath the harvest moon.

Transitions

He comes at evening, haltingly, tentatively, yet knowing the journey is worth the effort. Foraging is good beneath the feeders, but a turkey venturing into human territory must be wary. The hummingbirds are a study in contrast. Bold, daring, hardly hesitating in their approach, the ruby-throats are filling up at flowers and feeders before their own long journey south. Soon their little tummies will protrude and they will be gone.

It is seldom silent now. Snowy tree crickets, cone-head, bush and true katydids (plus others I do not know) fill the air with sound from dawn to dawn, different species singing at different times of day and night.  Of the birds, goldfinches are the most vocal. Recently fledged young beg incessantly, like the tinkling of tiny bells, from the sweet gum trees across the road. A few half-hearted calls from white-eyed vireos, Acadian flycatchers and eastern wood peewees punctuate the ever present residents' chorus. Chickadees chattering, titmice scolding, white-breasted nuthatches honking and cardinals chipping keep me company through the day.

Canada geese are feeding restlessly, leading their almost grown babies from field to field along the river. Soon the northern migrants will arrive, swelling the pressure on the recently harvested hay fields and farmers will begin estimating how many days of winter grazing will be lost.

Like moments of the water's stillness between the tide's going out and coming in, time feels like it has slowed down, almost to a stop during this transition time from late summer into autumn. Golden days invite me to rest into the rhythm of the earth, to witness the changes that provide for the life of the creatures around me, as they prepare for leaner days ahead.

Such a gift, to know something of the world around me, to be watchful and listening, attuned to the echoes of Creation...the gift of belonging.

End of August Noticing

What are you noticing as you walk out your front or back door lately? Where I live, it is still hot and humid, and though the weather forecast suggests that the heat will subside, temporarily, at least, I cannot yet believe it. Today, it feels as if summer will last forever, in spite of the abundant signs to the contrary.

There were voices missing from my early morning woodland walk this morning, voices I listened for, but did not hear. The wood thrushes who seemed to sing more lazily last week, did not sing at all today and it has been a while since I have heard the ovenbirds or orioles. Red-eyed vireos still questioned, however, and a handful of eastern wood peewees softly sang their musical "pee a wee", as if in greeting as I walked by. Blue jays are abundant, as their migration has begun and northern jays are passing through regularly, if the chorus of their raucous calls is any indication. The yard is full of hummingbirds - males, females and juveniles with fat little tummies, all feeding constantly, in preparation for their long flight south. It seems too soon to think about saying goodbye, and yet I know that in a few weeks other birds will come and settle in for the winter. It won't be long before the predictable arrival of white-throated sparrows and juncos and I know that I will miss them, too, when it is their turn to leave, next spring.

As happens in late summer, spider webs are everywhere these days. Some are strung across trails, as if the spiders know that insects are as appreciative of flying in open space as humans are of walking there. In fact, one can't walk any of the wooded trails this time of year, without repeatedly running into sticky, silken strands. Other webs are large, intricately patterned circular structures that may be spun 15 feet off the ground. When covered with dew, and hit by the first rays of sun in the morning, they look to be made of diamonds, glistening in the trees. 

The late summer roadside and meadow flowers are coming into bloom, and all are covered with pollinators of all kinds. Joe-pye weed billows into tall pink clouds and grows lush in the ditches along the roads. Hyssop-leaved and late thoroughwort are becoming a white haze that sets off the bright yellow rough-leaved goldenrod and various beggartick species. White wood aster is blooming in the woodland edges and soon will be joined by blue-stemmed and zigzag goldenrod, followed later by the tiny-flowered white frost asters that are the primary source of pollen and nectar as the growing season winds down. 

The trees are also beginning to foretell the coming of autumn, though more subtly than they will a few weeks from now. While black gums and sassafras are the first to boast a few bright red or yellow leaves, black walnut foliage is the first to fall in profusion. Their descent is just beginning, golden leaves fluttering and twirling softly to the ground. The yellow poplars are beginning to color, as well, and here and there is the crimson of solitary red maple leaves, early to turn, for whatever reason.

These are days to savor, despite the heat. It is a time of abundance for all...ripened berries and plenty of insects for the birds, still-green leaves for the many cricket and katydids who are still singing mightily, nectar and pollen for myriad pollinators, acorns and hickory nuts for deer and squirrels. It is a time for gratitude for what the earth can provide, if allowed to and, for me, gratitude to the Giver of all, for allowing me to share in the life of this land and its inhabitants.