Barley Loves Autumn

We were hardly ready for the cold that arrived Sunday, 

and the dusting of snow seemed strange while leaves were still on the trees.  

Monday morning, before dawn, long ribbons of geese made their way south over the distant hills.  

At night, we could hear them overhead complaining about the weather.

Despite what the thermometer says, it is still autumn, 

and I'd hate to let the season get by without Barley weighing in on it. 

Barley loves autumn.  

He loves foggy mornings when the world is quiet except for the crunch of leaves underfoot.

He loves the fresh, clear air, and the late afternoon sun on his coat, 

and living in a world of orange.

He loves being a blur of motion as he races over the ground in broad circles, 

scattering bright colors in his wake.

Barley loves winter, too, but he's not ready to let go of autumn just yet.  

And for that matter, neither am I.



Linking with Saturday's Critters
and Our World Tuesday

Just Last Week

Dogwood leaves

glowed crimson through the morning mist.

Click on image to enlarge.

From a windy hilltop,

the afternoon sun ducked in and out of clouds

 lighting trees afire and dousing others in the shadows.

The colors were brilliant and brief.




"Nothing gold can stay."

Robert Frost

I Love Autumn

I love autumn with its cobalt skies washed clean by the rain,

a canopy of orange overhead, 

and a new layer of rusty leaves blanketing the ground, hiding acorn snacks.

I love the trees, checkered above the bluff, 

seeds taking flight on silken strands,

and the sound of acorns, bouncing off the roof like popcorn.

I love autumn,

and my heart soars in gratitude to the One who made it,

who also formed galaxies,

who gave the promise of forever.

And this is the real and eternal life;

That they know you,

The one and only true God,

And Jesus Christ, whom you sent.

John 17:3

Autumn's Approach

After a refreshing cool spell, it's hot again, like the middle of summer, but there are telltale signs that autumn is just around the corner.  Hummingbird activity has slowed considerably, most of the birds already winging their way on the long trip to the Yucatan.  We wish them well.   The first poison ivy leaves have turned red, bright against the green forest, and dogwood leaves are showing tinges of color, their bright berries lighting up the trees and sprinkling the ground.  Acorns are falling, too, the largest from the White Oaks, a rich shiny brown, as if polished by a Marine.  Tarantellas have been seen crossing the roads on their annual migration, and at the archery target, Don, my hunter husband, is tightening up his groups.

And then there are the butterflies.  We've seen lots of them this summer, but never in as many numbers as now.  The Sulfurs and Swallowtails have moved on, for the most part, and Buckeyes have taken their place, dancing gracefully among the flowers.  In the forest clearings, fireworks of wild onion explode in purple and white and attract butterflies by the score.

So what if the thermometer says 90?  Fall is on its way.