9.1.16 Nestled into relative silence

Down by the farmers fields, it is September 1, and even without humans designating dates, still everything would be turning, in preparation for a transition to something quite something else. 
And so here, we see the crops coming to fruition. Down here, the cabbage and the corn struggling through such long dry spell is, but managing. 

We see all of the wild grasses with their luminescents and their seed formation, as the pollinators feed hungrily on newly blossomed thistle and a great good volume of golden rod, that will blossom once, twice, and three times. The beautiful yellow evening Primrose, the provides food for so many.

Down at the private camps , so populated with families of those who own them on the river, the RV's still stand, but the cars moving down along the dirt road, that inches between crops , has stilled almost to a stop. 

Labor Day weekend will be all out, because everyone knows it's officially the last time to sit in the river's waters, watch children splash and run, as dogs bark happily and chase them along.

Down here along the farmers fields, I can feel in my bones the land slowly returning to what we will find, come late fall, and then winter. 

The wildlife and the growing things and the great broad swath of land nestled into the relative silence.