Wigeon of Leave

The weather really did change! It started out cool and cloudy like yesterday, but by afternoon, the sun had come out and it was mild and warm. I went for a walk in the morning while it was still cool. I was going very slowly, so it was more of a saunter, really, but it felt good to get back in the habit, and so good to be outside again. The golden field of flowers has faded to brown, with only a few latecomers left, and an occasional bunch of purple asters--Michaelmas is when they bloom. But the finches are still busy with the seedpods, and there is plenty of color even though the leaves haven't turned yet: rusty red of haws and crab apples, the velvety red sumac, and the ruby clusters of high bush cranberries. Autumn scents are tantalizing too, dark, spicy, and sweet.

I cleaned the table on the back porch, which had become dusty, and we sat out there, enjoying the warmth and sunlight. I watched all kinds of bees and little butterflies busy in the flowering weeds that I never cleared out of my flowerbed. See, this is why I can never weed: just when I'm about to get around to it, the plants flower, and then when I see how happy the bees are, I think I'd better leave them their forage until the blossom is over. And then, when it fades, the birds come to get the seeds, and I say to myself, "Oh, better leave it till spring . . . ." But, to paraphrase Billy Joel (or to make a complete hash of his lyric), I'd rather laugh with the creatures than cry with the lawn care specialists. The creatures are much more fun.