October 1

There are far more yellow hues in the woods and roadsides now, making the filtered sunlight appear warmer somehow. The climb up South Road from the reservoir is particularly beautiful, where the trees canopy the street just before it intersects Route 31. In summer, the deep greens of oaks and maples and ash created a darkened tunnel that was a welcome cool spot from the summer swelter. Now the same leaves have lost some of their reflected deep greens, and their slow deterioration permits light enough to pass through, giving each a measure of translucence. Driving up the road is simply warmer now, less about the temperature which has given way to cooler autumn and more of perception, where the diffuse yellow is enveloping.

All around town the delicate leaves are just starting to fall to the ground. The birch especially seem ready to retire, having spent several months tirelessly waving in even the most gentle breeze. They are often among the first to yellow and drop, in groups they give way in the autumn wind falling like giant snow flakes to the ground, continuing their carefree waving as they descend, until they come to rest as a golden carpet waiting to be scattered by the passing cars.

September 30

It is fitting that the new moon comes when September is at an end. The changes are undeniable now, much as we would prefer to keep these warm and clear New England days forever. We have been blessed with two weeks of sun-filled days, of blue skies the color of cobalt, where the most distant peaks of Wachusett are clear to see in the dry air. Equally so the night sky has been a wonder of stars, cooler now, where the crickets that remain have begun to struggle in their cadence.

It’s too easy to use the struggle analogy this time of year, when there’s sign enough that nature is increasingly content with letting go. But these signs need not be solely thought of in terms of decay or endings; there is magnificence in this transition as much as there is decline.

Take our white pines out front as an example. They, like many throughout the town are becoming beautifully two-toned now. A misconception is that pines don’t lose their needles like the deciduous trees; the vibrant sugar maples that will soon typify this fact. The truth is that most conifers do thin this time of year, particularly when the late summer and early autumn have been in drought. Just now our white pines are showing brown needles, and it is the case that such pines often drop 1/3 of their needles each year. It is partly to lessen water loss, now that photosynthesis has diminished and partly to simply account for senescence.

The result is a pleasing two-tone of greens and browns among the boughs, whereupon soon enough the ground beneath will gather another carpet layer of soft brown needles once they fall.

September 29

Mornings are equally beautiful, in the stillness of the pre-dawn when the sky is clear.

Orion is well overhead nearly, perhaps 10 degrees below meridian at 4:00 in the morning, sitting upward in the southern sky. It’s so dark now, that the Orion nebula appears within his sword, barely a fuzzy patch of white against the coal black background.

Jupiter continues to progress ever counter-clockwise, retrograde notwithstanding. It has moved closer to the twins and will reside nearby for the next year. This patch of sky is beautiful now, with Sirius and Jupiter, Orion and Aldeberan, the Hyades and the Pleides all so close together.

September 28

Autumn reminds us that the night sky, with humidity that has lowered since the sultry days of August, shows the heavens in such clarity that it is easy to fall in love with simply gazing at the stars.

The moon is waning enough now to afford more darkness, and the stars appear slowly just after 7:00 pm, with Venus first to arrive. She is brilliant as the evening star, hanging perhaps 15 degrees high on the western horizon after sunset and staying just long enough before dipping below the treelike.

If the lights of Anna Maria are off, it’s worth standing on the cross knoll when darkness sets in, particularly if the winds are calm. It Is simply beautiful to scan the horizon, watching for shooting stars and waiting to see if the milky way will resolve.

September 27

Six juvenile delinquents descended into the large boughs of the white pines that border the house on the northern side. You’d think from the fanfare that they expected we missed them. Early summer, we experienced the calls of the songbirds, melodious mating songs which began well before dawn and continued throughout the day. Later in the summer they waned, but the background noise of mourning dove and chick-a-dee, evening cardinal and catbird all persisted.

Now there is much less consistency, which made the blue jay cacophony so contrasting. From wherever they resided this summer, it appears these troublemakers have returned, like a gathering of teenagers just wanting to push the boundaries of propriety.

I suppose we’ll break out the shelled peanuts soon, tossing them on the back porch in the morning as some sort of appeasement.

September 26

Some of the burning bushes are starting to show spectacular color, with small leaves that have gone to a deep crimson. In a breeze, these leaves flutter about, giving the bush an appearance of fire, when seen from a distance (and with a little imagination).

I would plant more of them, were my conscience not overruling, as burning bush is listed as invasive. This does seem to be the case, for there are more of them in town now than I recall from years ago. A proper census is difficult most times of the year, for apart from their bladed stems, the bush is rather unremarkable seen from afar. Come late September, they begin to stick out conspicuously in fiery regalia, and it’s easy to appreciate their ornamental popularity.

They also take hold readily. A small shoot can simply be recklessly placed in any hole, in shade or sun, and it will likely thrive. Given only a few years and a little pruning, even the most singular transplant can be transformed into an ornamental bush.

There are curiosities in the coloring. On the north side of our barn, I planted two specimens roughly eight years ago. They are both thriving bushes of approximately 5 feet high, full and shapely. As far as I can tell, they are the same species, and they receive the same light, water and such. One, without exception, turns fiery red in early September, while its twin remains aloof in its deep greet coat. It always follows in early to mid October, once the first real hard frosts have set in. I can’t explain it, which is fine that way by me.

September 25

There was a mild frost this morning, visible only on the tops of the cars that had been left out overnight in the common area beside the church. The lawns and rooftops seemed unaffected, so the temperature must have been somewhere between 33 and 35 degrees.

This early frost ebbs and flows like a slow moving tide, coming in stealthfully in the early morning, in the low lands initially before progressing further each day, until it takes hold fast, and we see autumn depart.

After the sunrise, this frost will retreat, leaving wet car tops and dew-soaked grass in its wake.