The sun is hitting that point in the sky (and on the horizon) where I begin to realize that fall is on its way.
Yes, I said it. "Fall."
It's just a certain look the sky gets...and I know. The cast of the shadows and sounds in the air.
The setting sun has a beautifully lazy place in the library window as the year (aw, let's just say the "growing season") begins to wind down. It hits a sweet spot in the tree branches, and the filtered light plays across the west-facing rooms brilliantly for hours in the late afternoon and on into twilight. By the time it sets, the house has been bathed in a comforting easy glow that seems to wipe away any transgressions of too much heat or too little rain, or not enough breeze.
It's usually just about this time of year when the locusts begin their scratchy crooning, and their droning buzz is heard far off - echoing the feeling of each fading day with a soundtrack all its own.
Lower and lower the sun sets - slowly bouncing off the powerlines and roof peaks until it can bounce no longer. It slips into the waiting horizon; disappearing like a pat of butter that's melted into a steamy bowl of Cream of Wheat.
With the approaching evening, crickets and peepers join the chorale, while the last of the song birds bid "good day" to the light. A mourning dove sings out one last time for its mate as sparrows, jays, cardinals and robins play one final round of tag for dust baths in the driveway or bugs in the flowerbed.
Can you feel it?
No comments:
Post a Comment