(We’re not there yet, so pics in this post are from past autumns, in order to show why the anxiety…)
As early September sumac comes crimson gilded, as great flocks of snow geese anxiously ponder mild climes of distant Cajun wetlands whence to introduce another year’s eager hatchlings, soft northern breezes waft among great and somber platoons of red oak, still clad in summer wear. All flora of Ozark woodland doubtless consider for the moment their abundant wardrobes for another autumnal gala, yet to be determined amongst myriad compositions of scarlet, golden, and copper. The black gum tree, always one of the most impatient to don her maroon autumn apparel, shudder in anticipation of icier winds. Rivulets of deep green lichen silently flow over and among powdery, arid rocks of long-desiccated creek beds which themselves patiently await expected rains of amber October and beyond.
Gentle droughts of unfamiliar coolness now drift in determined command of late summer leaden skies, soon to be the order of the day throughout watchful hillsides. Fewer birdsongs of yesterday’s flowery summer are to be heard now. On a lovely poem of lazy winding roadside, verses of mottled burgundy sumac are punctuated by new traces of goldenrod gently swaying on fresh north wind pouring gently into and onto a blissful landscape, joyfully abiding the frequent darts of wrens and nuthatches into their serenity.
At no other time in the life of man has the Creator taken greater opportunity to reveal to His creation the very essence of His Majesty than in the orchestrated chaos of the woodland autumn. Under ever variegated greys in the strata of September heavens, He soon will begin once more to adorn this magnificent world of hickory and oaken hills with hues that only can be drawn from His incomparable pallete, and this for the earthy delight of His created, be they feathered or furred, but most especially for mankind to whom He assigned stewardship of it all. Blessed indeed is he to whom God has given an eye to duly appreciate and delight in the beauty of this serendipitous spectacle of color and an ear to hear the late summer woodland dirges of cicada or perhaps a joyous conversation between a monogamous cardinal and spouse now finished with their burdensome task of attending raspy fledglings.
A dwindling few apples stubbornly cling to summer trees tempting young raccoons on damp and cool nights to gorge in late summer feasts. Oaks of varied kinds have produced this year’s acorn crop, a pursuit no doubt appreciated by the soon to be engaged whitetail deer. Antlers soon will be burdened with sagging velvet in various stages of riddance. Anxious squirrels navigate fallen trees and carpets of last year’s leaves searching out or excavating satisfactory caches for abundant hickory nuts and acorns. Hawthorn berries are coming ripe in ebony tones on shrubs among the undergrowth and persimmons have already embarked on journeys of color transition from summer green to wrinkled destinations of pumpkin orange. Dogwoods, as always, are already ahead of other flora in this perennial race into fall colors, sporting loud coppery foliage interspersed with bright red berries.
The excitement of autumn’s approach grows perceptibly through the woodlands as a sword of lengthening shadows stab into the burdened heart of September as though it were a great dam futilely straining to hold back a soon to be torrent of roaring colors, but all who anticipate the resplendent deluge to come, though wholly imperceptible for now, understand it’s effort is to no avail. Fall will assuredly arrive, absent the Lord’s return – and we will once more revel in the ecstatic glory of her beauty. For now, we must endure with such patience as we can muster, another endless, peaceful September sunset hopelessly clinging to silent green hills.
Enjoy this autumn – the way things are going, our old world might not see many more.
MK