There are five weeks remaining in the season, here at Fish in a Barrel Pond, but summer is over. The leaves began turning early, the trees giving up on any hopes for rain and packing it in for the year. Strange sounds fill the nights as owls and coyotes prowl in the moonlight. The Pleiades are visible and I’m sure if I dragged my sorry butt out of bed at 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. I’d see Orion, too. The strings of geese passing overhead in the darkness surely do.
A near steady procession of waterfowl beats wings downwind most all day, and each evening brings a new batch to the pond for a rest before moving on.
The fishermen are back, seeking out brookies in fall spawning colors that match the hillsides, but they’ll settle for the tug of a rainbow on a feeding binge, filling out like a football as it gorges itself in anticipation of the cold, dark months ahead.
It won’t be long before the trees are bare, crimson cloaks and golden mantles strewn on the ground below turning brown. The heady smell of decomposition already fills the air as this summer’s growth is broken down, becoming food for the green sprouts of spring and, in spite of the recent heat, there is a chill to that thought with images of falling leaves turning to the swirling snow sure to come.
The changes are showing as our season winds to a close, and a melancholy air has set in as the inevitable becomes apparent once more. In five weeks I close the place up and settle in for a long nap, dreaming not only of the season just past but also of the those to come. And come they will, as they always have, with bright warmth giving way to dim chill before the chill is lifted once more and we do it all over again.
In the meantime, get out and enjoy it while you can.