9.23.14 Here we are, nearing the very end of September

Here we are, nearing the very end of September, days 70°; nights 45. Tumbling along, into real fall.

Seems slow to approach-am I wrong? 

And yes, all of the wild underbrush of the forests are turning remarkable shades of so many colors. 

Late bloomers of the wild variety burst forth in a sudden flame of fruition; and then quickly diminish and fall away, disappearing until next year at this time.

We stroll down the Kestral Lane, as this part of the world seriously nears sunset.

In one minute, the sun is turning the vast pale crowds a bright pink. Next second, as we turn the corner and reach the fields, Dante re-leashed, in case of wild things, all the pink has disappeared. And pale blue clouds , as pale as a baby soft blanket, scatter across the sky.

The wind picks up intermittently, and every leaf surrounding me flutters in a beautiful dance, tracking the breeze traveling from right , slowly across me and the lane and all the living things - toward left, past the old fence, and beyond, the shorn field… 

The strangely beautiful lone Alpaca guarding the sheep, yearling horses kicking up their heels and playing, before heading back to the shelter for the evening. 

And the goats of white and butterscotch being tended, in their barn.

 

Luckily, Dante knows of none of this. And I hope this remains so. 

We turn away from the winds in the trees ; the leaves moving in unison with the breeze, 

We turn away from the baby blue clouds over the flat green field , that must bring such delicious delight to deer and other creatures, in fall, and winter.

We turn and head back up the dark lane, Dante bringing me sticks of every size; me tossing them back behind us or forward, as he enjoys being off leash once again.

 

 

I study the left side of the path, looking for the unusual blue wildflower I saw the other day. And finally, come upon it. Past it's ripening, the buds I suppose never open, it's not its way. Lovely formation.

I attached the dog to leash once more, and we approach the road, carefully popping him in the car. 

And there, spread out in front of me, still are pink clouds, racing across the horizon.

The sunshine a distant memory. The darkness a comforting softening upon us all.