The Great Round – Falling leaves in late August 2026 by Sara Wright

Red squirrel is running down the hill with a baseball in his mouth! The sphere-like object is one of the wild apples, pale yellow with a pink blush. This morning when I was weeding ferns, I noticed how many of these fruits were nibbled. The deer are here at least twice a day chunking down whole fruits. Mothers and fawns come by every August to feast on these ripened golden apples. So does everyone else! So many fruits hit and bounce off the metal roof before tumbling to the ground that I can’t believe there are still so many apples hanging from that tree.  All around me curled crinkled wizened brown or pale yellow leaves drift listlessly to the ground. Windless days make it obvious that falling leaves belong to the end of one season and the beginning of another. A poignancy rises from within because summer is almost over and we had so few days of cerulean skies with puffy white clouds. Lots of murky yellowish blurs at sunset, masses of pollen and thick humidity leave me enervated most of the time. I’ll be the first one to admit it; I miss those wondrous summer days we all took for granted. How much has changed…I am sad to leave a season behind that never blossomed into what seemed to be a timeless canvas of blue and gold.

  Around the house the crabapples have branches dripping with unripe fruit. All fruit trees have been dropping some leaves since the first of August. At least this pattern remains stable. The wild bushes and trees follow suit making this transition early, because by mid – summer they have already set fruit. Along the roadside chokeberries are bent low with glorious red or black berries, a joy to see. Their leaves are curled and browning up reinforcing the truth that this season of natural food abundance will come to an end, but not before the birds and animals have feasted on ki’s bounty. Do the animals give thanks for their food as I am want to do for ripe tomatoes, peppers, basil, sweet berries and peaches and a glorious wild garden of riotous flowers?  I think they do.

I am profoundly grateful for every being who inhabits this land, even the squirrels that drive me crazy. I miss the warblers, most are gone and the forest is quiet, except for tree frogs who announce a coming rain. The mossy banks of the brook are a lush green although the water is low. Perhaps this accounts for unlikely visits from mink and heron…The last time I looked three wood frogs were hunting in their pond. Their protective ferny arbor is shrinking as leaves draw back losing chlorophyll; all are turning that late summer mottled gray green. In a month all plants will be cut back just before the equinox.

Cooler temperatures are a joy, as is the earlier nights that are closing in, quieting summer’s cacophony. These old eyes appreciate the sun rising lower on the horizon…less glare allows me to see the details of the intricate pattern of a green stink bug I met on one of my flowers today, along with a teeny yellow crab spider. One bumblebee visited the phlox, but gray skies probably kept others away. The lack of butterflies is so disheartening. How much I miss those arial jewels sailing through my yard.

My body yearns for clear cool autumn skies, but my heart is still caught by a summer that didn’t bring the usual ‘high’ that comes from being in love with a season. I need to admit that for me summers have become as difficult as winters. Heat. ‘It is what it is’ some say… I’m doing my best to adjust. Between the two spring and fall are sandwiched in – those precious moments of burgeoning life, and then the falling away…

Tonight we met the male turkeys as we walked up the road. Each turkey had one piercing eye directed on Coalie who is always excited to see them. Was she on a leash? She was, and they relaxed, twittering as we passed by. One has a deep red wattle.

Another fawn stared us down from the edge of the woods. Animals are as curious about us as we are about them.

After a summer of few mushrooms some gorgeous pure white fungi are appearing on the hill. Investigating, I identified the death angel by sight, but the strange part was that this mushroom was half eaten. Animals don’t eat destroying angels, so I was baffled. Researching, I discovered my mistake. This look alike was a White Dapperling (Leucoagaricus leucothites) which explained the munching! Now I am hoping that more appear… mushrooms are such magical fruiting beings appearing out of the deep when conditions are just right.

The fawn keeps a sharp eye on us as we climb the hill. Down here in the hollow the deer fear nothing and graze happily around the house. If Coalie chases them they stand in tall ferns where she cannot go!

When Coalie was stung by a bee or wasp on our protected porch last Sunday her tiny face blew up and I feared for her life because it was a weekend and except for an emergency vet in the city where I cannot go because of severe directional dyslexia. I must have help and there was none. When Coalie becomes ill severe PTSD strikes and fear is all I know. She survived thankfully, though she was sick for three days. Sadly, PTSD keeps it’s own schedule and I am still caught by this demon. When we finally saw our vet Coalie’s liver count was normal for the first time in her life. A miracle, that.

It’s been more than two weeks since I rescued (maybe) two monarch caterpillars from poisoned leaves and put them in a container on the porch. Too long, for metamorphosis I thought until yesterday when I moved the cage outdoors and noted with excitement that there were subtle changes. I could see two eyes appearing at the bottom of one of the capsules. Of course, this doesn’t mean a healthy butterfly will hatch but I fervently hope so. I still have fragrant phlox and a bouquet of late blooming flowers along with the bee balm, but I also note that the presence of hummingbirds has diminished. This shift seems strange because normally these birds are seeking nectar all day long. Do they know something that I do not?

 There is something about the magic of this changing of the seasons that attaches me to ‘forever questions’, and the wonder of living on hallowed land. Gratitude flows like a river of air above my  head.