Fall came in with great flair when we lived up north near the Vermont border. Almost overnight the mountains, framed in my kitchen window, went from green to the brilliant colors of autumn. There was the scent of smoke in the air as folks lit the first fires in their wood stoves or fireplaces and a definite chill in air.
It is far different here in South Texas. One season seems to slip gently into the next without much fanfare. Summer, like a refined southern lady, gently lifts her skirts and walks slowly into autumn. There is no blaze of color or sudden change of temperature, but as she goes she leaves behind gentle reminders that she will be back before too long.
Gone are the lavish blooms she favored in the height of summer. In their place she scatters tiny bouquets in the most unlikely of places.
“Departing summer hath assumed
An aspect tenderly illumed,
The gentlest look of spring;
That calls from yonder leafy shade
Unfaded, yet prepared to fade,
A timely carolling.”
- William Wordsworth, September