The yard is getting colder and colder, though it’s not cold enough, yet, to use the word winter. In fact, it’s a stretch to use the word cold.
Maybe brisk is a better word. Except, nothing feels brisk. Instead everything feels sleepy and slow. Spider webs ripple in smoke-tinged drafts, and wasps pause for photographs as if posing.
Grubs curl sluggishly when disturbed, and I have to go slow with the mower because fall’s chill has dulled the toads’ reflexes.
Jumping spiders retreat higher and higher into trees, searching for safe crevices in which to spin their thick winter nests.
It happens like this every year, and every year I succumb to a listless bout of melancholy.
Which reminds me of a poem by Kay Middleton…
Fabulous photos, Rae and many thanks for the link to that very haunting poem.
Thanks! The poem is one of my all-time favorites.
Wonderful photos! And a new poem to know!
Thank you! 🙂
Rae, one of my all-time favorite poems! As you see, others love it, too. Thank you for posting it.
Oh dear. I stole your phrase in my earlier response–the poem is one of my “all-time favorites” too!
amazing pictures!
Thank you!
contrasting colors are perfection
Amazing photographs, Rae – you have quite a gift!
Thanks!
Touched by your words, your photos and by Kay’s poem. It’s one thing to talk of loss; it’s another thing to transmit it in an uplifting way by giving it shape, color and sound. When all you want to say is “yes.”