EARLY OCTOBER THOUGHTS AND IMAGES

Gently fall the yellow honey locust leaves, russet colored white ash leaves descend to the earth from on high, droopy are the blossom spent goldenrod and aster blue or white, exhausted in the summer heat of almost early fall! ~90F.

Oppressive is the newly arrived fall, resigned to summer heat. Quickly on the morrow a front will toss the heat and brisk chill will follow, follow on the retreat of this last of summer heat. Always one must remember wherever one does live nothing more can be asked of the weather than “Give me long-term averages and no questions asked.”


Retreat the summer green, early stress of shorter days and late summer dry, protect against come what may, abort excess to save the rest, early fall is late summer triage. Slow the summer dies, quick the fall advance. Leaf by leaf the story’s told, how the summer dies, but fall does not begin, it’s seen as summer’s end.

Standing beside a stream the water rushes by; following along stream banks, to its source or end, streams seem a journey. Perception changes from one’s attitude, along the banks when sitting at one spot, life is seen as passing by, always changing, yet never has beginning nor even an end, but walk along a bank and as each bend and rill leads to another, life’s a journey once again. Take the time sit and watch and take the time to walk.

From where I sit, a sugar maple changes into fall, mid-September and already one third is a lovely Red, two thirds remain a summer green. Each year this tree is among the first to change and always the pattern is the same. As the tree grows on a very dry embankment to its north, dry stress would seem to favor the north side. The south facing branches seem to be the first, perhaps added stressed by the summer heat? Anyway, the blush of Red begins the tree’s undress of summer greenery.

I always love the many shades of Red in the early fall. Red is the color, the color that is fall, from berries to foliage to fiery sunsets, the glory that is fall.










Fall also seems spider time, everywhere they appear. Especially tiny ones that like to wander and jump about. The arachnid wolves who hunt and stalk, not ensnare. Some how this seems a more honorable way to gain ones nourishment than weaving webs of death.

Soon some quiet night, out of clear black darkness a killing frost will fall, thereby ending all tender summer growth. Sometimes it seems a blessing if early frost is hard, mercifully ending daylight-starved, suffering summer plant life, or worse soft-frost disfigured beauties lingering on and on.

Although fall weather following a killing frost can yield pleasant days, these days are but an interlude, only a false image of summer plenitude. Spring and fall transition times are better than the doldrums summer heat and winter cold present.

LATE SEPTEMBER MUSINGS

Dragonflies zigzag the open lawn!!








Earth-bound August morning dew twinkles as July’s evening fireflies, falling out of the dark starry-night, twinkling only from one very special spot. Formed from star-filled sparkling nights, they are, perhaps, ephemeral starlight, not just diffracted sun rays, for sunny morning delight. Each drop seems a blinking rainbow in the morning light or perhaps a blinking Morse code from starships far away, revealing eternal truths for every one to see.


Drifting in a ray of morning sun, strands of a night-constructed cobweb death-trap float gently in the air, harmlessly passing by. I’ve seen a spider fall from a branch fifteen feet to the ground, attached to a silken bungee cord, formed so effortlessly. How can so much silk so quickly flow from such a tiny source? Truly does astound!!



The first hints of fall’s approach are seen in the early goldenrod. Goldenrod, glory of the fall, has kin that blooms late July and early August and is quite the family, friends of insects, butterflies, wasps, bees, bane of gardeners, farmers, livestock and many other fall bloomers. A stand of goldenrod, Solidago sp., covers dense areas with invasive, overlapping roots and rhizomes, choking out virtually everyone else.
Not eaten much by bugs or foragers, only stung by gall mites that disfigures but doesn’t really harm, Solidago canadensis is the worst offender. Makes one wonder why it hasn’t taken over the entire sun-drenched areas of the northeast. However, eventually a stand weakens, becomes shaded or invaded, a bad season may give reason, but someone moves in and changes the neighborhood.

Change is always King, variety the spice of life, to resort to an old cliché. Seems clichés become old because they speak such basic truths.

ATOP MT. WASHINGTON, NEW HAMPSHIRE

From meadow and valley fields, though open deciduous woods, then dense evergreens growing smaller as road’s ascent grows longer and higher and vistas begin to open. Then in a well- marked demarcation trees reach their end of line. Grasses, sedges, few small flowers too, barely clinging to mountain side, mosses rare and lichens, yellow bright, declare tree line is finally reached. Life becomes most difficult.

Winds whip, abrade with specks of rock, freezes thaw, then freeze again, well below the base-line norm. Botanic life is shorn of height, hiding from the furies might, between weather ravaged rock, sheltered in frost created cracks, within a pile of freeze created rocks.
Primitive and basic, life is lived in extreme, as from beginning it does seem. Water is life’s necessity, water is the enemy. While flowing moist it nourishes, wind-driven, frozen-dry discourages.









Imagination cannot comprehend the time that has been spent to construct and destruct such massive stuff. Fragile and easily destroyed we are, civilized but not too far, searching for a place to realize who we may be and Why. Reduced to insignificance we seek to find our magnificence, but there is no inevitable defense, for soon we all will be past tense. That is what unites us all, visitors from around the globe, to clamor to the top to find ourselves in awe.

















At the top of the northeast all the world comes to see, by foot, by rail, by car, truly an amazing sight. Many languages spoken, bound by a common bond, to stand atop Mt. Washington, to stand atop and stare. Stare to see forever, everywhere, a universal need, a universal desire. Many cluster a the top, the goal being reached, but few stop along the way to discover that the journey is the true goal, the peak but a brief reward, a trophy.













The mountain train has been climbing the this high peak forever, a hundred fifty years. The highest peak was much higher once, forever ago, two hundred million years, give or take a few. Forevers are indeed forever, forever will they seem. Each forever is forever in its own esteem. Each a cosmic blink depending how you think. On the macro-side the frost chunks the rock apart, forever freezes thaw and water slips between, on the micro-scale lichen does the same! One an act of physics, the other of chemistry.












Billowy white the clouds that float the sky become gray fog when with mountain peak collide.
Slow the rock does bend and fold, perception does lie, rock is not as solid as we’ve oft been told, for solid rock so old belies such tales told bold.


Browns and tans and greens and yellows, bright blooms , dull seeds, bright seeds, dull blooms, in the late summer the stress of living shows how great the toll extracted. The pain of reality, reversing one small patch of entropy, is obvious, yet so painful to see. Wonder what the point is really meant to be. Strive and die forever, but prepare to future face? Such is the faith of living, running the great race. For each life exists to better life for life yet to be.

MID-AUGUST THOUGHTS

There is no blue as blue
As the blue that is the sky,
Golden sunlight upon the air,
Blue scattered to your eye.





BODIE ISLAND LIGHTHOUSE
OUTER BANKS
NORTH CAROLINA




Collected caws of several crows that rang throughout the woods ending month of July, have been replaced by raucous rantings of blue jays when mid- August appears. Loud and boisterous, the world around here belongs to them, at least for this moment. Must be family obligations end sooner for old crows than it does for the jays.

As an aside, the goldfinches seem to be just pairing, still carefree as a summer breeze.

A few thin wisps of white dot the blue bright, drifting features across pure blue. Soon more wispy white floats thin and general haze begins. The blueness of the blue sky dulls as mid-morning air fills with moisture-laden vapors.

Plaintive lament of mourning dove, what caused your grief, such endless sadness compelled to proclaim for all to hear. What pray tell, what can be the source of so much remorse. Sadness sung when spring has begun and domestic chores can overwhelm, such sadness at the prospect may be understood, and now spring has gone and summer to reflect, surely some joy is to expect, but again your sad lament. Perhaps there is a sad thought that the task is now complete.

As mid-morning passes on towards noon, the jays are gone, all is silent, all is calm. Slight is leafy movement, quick is wispy flowing whiteness. Cool is becoming warm, and warm is the forecast, return of haze and hot and humid.


Since life’s excess is yet to be,
Morning light can not compete
With glory color that ends a day.

Filled with life’s breath so moist,
With brilliant blue fading gray,
Golden globe sets a glorious way.

From air that was crystal clear,
Life-filled, mid-summer’s day
Sun set sweet on crimson play.

RDS

SAUNTERING SAPSUCKER WOODS-MARCH 2010

.....................Thoughts..........................
In solitude thoughts drift in and out,
Words rarely make the page,
In company words drift about,
Thoughts rarely make the stage.


Late in the month of March winter weariness sets in, spring crowds out the last of winter thought. But after a long, hot and humid spell in July and August winter thoughts become more “pleasant” shall we say. And so I add these thoughts to my blog although the saunter was long ago in the late winter.





Slowly dies the winter in the month of March. Quickly one day becomes the summer, spring barely makes the scene. Spring is but a state of mind slowly building in the soul, building as slowly as, day by day, the sun rises in the sky.
In the earliest of spring, often late winter by calendar reckoning, winter retreats but gradually. Small, shallow ponds seem to freeze the hardest, are held in winter’s grip the longest. Slowly, ever so slowly, long after their shorelines have shed winter’s icy grip, released from winter bondage, ponds reluctantly, concede to spring!
White snow covered surfaces gradually go grey or may even surprise with an orange color, almost rusty from winter algae growing wherever winter sun had often appeared. Solid winter ice sponges in the warming, growing days, punky and crumbly like a rotting woodland log returning to the soil from which it once had once sprung.







Soon spring rings the ponds and ice continents separate into but islands in the sea. Life, never really killed by winter, slowly revives to prosper in the sunshine glory that is spring. Notice, notice, always take note subtle changes every spring day. Always notice, changes always changing is the game, day by day, year by year, ever are the changes changing to unite us to eternity.
Plants are such wonderful time-temperature integrators and never is that more apparent than in the early spring. Sun warmed soil springs life forth quickly and where the snow lies longest, green always grows the last.

Soon the sun begins to fade, a last sparkle in some icy water mix and I go home!!
RDS

SUMMER SAUNTER AT SAPSUCKER

A calendar year is a very long short space of time. So much occurs in duration, but in end seems yet yesterday. Each passing year is compressed when comes to close, but exists forever while living.






Last summer an evening was spent at Sapsucker Woods to photograph the summer sunshine. Two weeks ago another summer evening was spent at Sapsucker seeking images of mid-summer bright. In summer, woods are mostly just green and dark from leafy canopy’s shade, a respite from the summer heat, but the light does not excite. After a cool and refreshing cold front passed through, pushing away recent heat and oppressive humidity, open areas, recently too hot, welcomed with open arms, a restless soul.





A year ago the summer was cool, a brief hot spell in April was about all we could call summer!! Long daylight of June was largely wasted because of the chill. Days of course were long but degrees where lacking, shrinking the magic degree-days needed for growth, dwarfing plant production, so to speak.


The ferns along the boardwalks luxuriated in this summer’s heat and humidity and sufficient rainfall. Never stressed they grew and grew, easily reaching 5 ft. for some, over flowing the boardwalk itself, lush, beautiful green, full fronds , so dramatic. Last year the ferns barely made 3 ft. and were much more sparse. And two years earlier, they actually took on a fall look by August because of a long dry, hot spell.
An interesting side-bar to this season’s story. Last year the cool weather was kind to some planted “wild-flowers” at the sanctuary. The bergamot plants were superb last year. They were planted in full sun but prefer dappled sun at clearings or creek sides, not liking to cook in the hot sun. Last year, because it was cool they did fine, this year not so good. They were not happy sweltering in the heat or humidity. Perhaps some seeds will find a spot more to their liking in the future!! So every year is different, every year some are happy, some are sad. Every year is not all good, every year is not all bad.
But what is consistent from year to year is the journey of the earth around the sun, around it’s axis, around and around. Late afternoon becomes early evening, shadows become longer at noon, day’s end-pieces yield softer, less harsh light. From the end of July, each week the length of daylight and shadow is more noticeable, as September and October approach the pace quickens, i.e. “time-rate of change” becomes greater to use an old calculus term.

The sun has almost set
And then its time to go home!!
RDS

ANGEL INSPIRED RESTLESS SUMMER THOUGHTS

Glimpsed but sporadically through the leafy canopy,
Southward glances in the pre-dawn darkness,
Silver slivers of light are seen, but it's not the rising sun,
It is the near-new moon giving false sun to me.

In darkness of predawn only light to see,
Is reflected sun shining from the moon.
Although too far east to be seen
Your sunlight still reaches me.

In mid summer, morning light is early
And twilight still seems so long.
Finally the sun comes into view,
Silver moon develops golden hue
Before dissolving into blue.

Blue sky o'er takes the golden moon,
But still the moon glow twinkles through.

Mysteries of mysteries our magical point of view,
Why are the moon and sun same size.
Humbling to marvel, surmise, on such eternal whys.

How special is a conscious being,
How unique the act of seeing.
Life is here, simple, complex not clear,
Why is the question that is so dear.

Why reflect upon the moon and sun early on summer morn.
Perhaps to see an angel and an inspiration too!!


I have not posted much of late, not sure why. Then a special angel came and inspired me!! Thank you K!! RDS