Mid-October. My wooden birdhouse is still hidden beneath a thick drape of arbor vines, but a few leaves and berries have started to yellow. In the distance a solitary crow squawks his long, lonesome lament.
On Sunday it was cold enough for us to have our first fire, but today a warm, soggy wind is blowing. Summer and autumn seem to be battling for control.
Let me stay awhile longer, summer begs.
It's our time, the yellowing leaves gently whisper.