A Portentous Season

I watched a tree squirrel from the window as it hopped across the front of the house to the flower garden at the side, where it buried a nut beneath a hydrangea bush. I was taking the morning off. The squirrel was busy as usual. Not that I haven’t been busy. Whenever the weather half permitted, I worked to finish the tag ends of summer projects that still await completion. I mowed the yard the other days as well, and for a few hours the yellow and brown carpet of fallen leaves that had covered the ground was only to be seen at the edges of the yard beneath the bare flower stalks and leafless shrubs.  Of course, today the carpet has returned in increased measure.

The other day, I surprised a deer in the backyard. We seldom see them, or evidence of their passing, although they use the yard as a thoroughfare during the winter. I think she was checking out the garden, perhaps assessing the height of the fence I built to keep out the woodchuck that insists on using the  stream bank as a place for its burrow. I’ve been letting the pole beans mature and look forward to harvesting the beans from the dried pods. Maybe she was eyeing them.

Fall has settled around the village in a sudden blanket of seasonal change. Not much color in the trees, for the most part. The leaves seem to be turning brown and falling, a simple capitulation to summer’s end. The weather is still pretty warm and remains cloudy and rainy. I would like to enjoy some dry, crisp days before the cold sets in. Don’t know if that is in the cards.

Yesterday, they held a demolition derby at the fairgrounds down the street. The entrants were paraded in on trailer beds all morning, and the you could hear their engines defiant roaring as participants crashed into each other until only the winner was able to continue movement. It’s a popular sport in these parts, although having lived in Los Angeles and driven in New York city and Boston I find it difficult to understand the attraction. Making-do with what you have seems more consistent with village life than intentionally ramming a vehicle that still runs well into another one. It is popular, though.

Life in a village sometimes seems to provide an immunity from outer social chaos. Here, everything appears to be readying for the season to come. Geese are gathering, squirrels are stockpiling supplies, crops are being harvested and put away for the months ahead. Life feels almost normal, a combination of satisfaction and relaxation from summer’s endeavors and an adrenalin rush to prepare for the coming months. It usually offers a dazzling celebration of life. This year, that social insulation from the outer world has proved somewhat thin, and fall is simply slipping into whatever lies ahead. Time to get those projects finished and get back to writing another Bobby Navarro adventure. How about you? Is fall a time of pumpkins and pies, or a time of darkening days and menacing goblins?