Peenie Wallie: Into the Fall

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September 11, 2011

Into the Fall

After Labor Day, Summer fled the mountain's hills. The temperature fell and we woke up, closing august windows, shivering in the stillness before the dawn. Full moon and bright stars.

By the day's light, the men came into the hills, burdened with great trailers and pulled the summer from mountains. They lured the horses from summer fields and led them down into the rain-shadow prairies - safe from winter's storms.

The bluebirds faded a lost gray and flitted erratically down the borders of drying fields. The hummingbirds fled on their long trek south, down to Central America, stopping at the local feeders only briefly before continuing on their way.

The doomers wandered into their gardens, wondering along why the corn never tasseled. Hoses and hoes and back-breaking labor produced precious little in the foothill victory gardens.

At dusk, the bears came out of the woods, starving, and pushed over the trash cans. They're eating anything they can find now - berries, trash, mice - anything is a meal to an omnivore. The summer peels back now, exposing the fall.

The color fades from the aspens as they quake before September's winds.

The largest bull elk moved out in the the clearings and, for the first time this season, began to bugle...that piercing sound like a woman being strangled in the shadows. Eerie. Haunting.

At dark-thirty, the bats came out and chased the mosquitoes and gnats - dancing across the lakes and fields. Even Timmy came out to see what was up, then disappeared to go sleep with the neighbors.