Tumbling Temps and Withering Winds ...

Suddenly, unexpectedly, autumn arrived.

Fall equinox came and went a week ago. Nonetheless I always hope that seasonal changes will occur gently and slowly, allowing my blood and bones time to acclimate to colder temps and drier air with ease and, even, affability.

No such luck. Last week’s hot, sunny days segued into rain, wind, and spiraling temperatures. Nature’s tree trimmer—the wind—blew through yesterday loosening and flinging branches over yard and drive. Today I woke to temps near 30 degrees. I’ve already heard tonight’s prediction: frost warning with temperatures dropping into the 20s.

“It’s too early!” my body whines.

“Get used to it,” Mother Nature seems to say, “You are an adult now, aren’t you?”

Ironically, the leaves have barely begun to color. Oaks, maples, poplar, and birch are still luscious green with occasional yellows and splashes of red scattered throughout the forest and along the roadsides. But our wood stove is fired up and blazing. It’s clearly time to switch to flannel sheets on the bed. And I’m back to wearing my fleece jacket, a full-time fashion statement until May or June.

This morning when I opened the door to the goose barn a bird fluttered, frantically, inside. The hay bale walls are roofed with a pickup topper to allow light into Lucy and Ander’s home. I could see the entrapped winged-one before I propped open the door.

After feeding and watering the big birds I returned to the barn and opened the end of the topper. I expect that the bird, who won’t fly out the lower barn door, will easily exit via the open topper. I’ll check later to see if my strategy worked. Who knows? It’s my guess that these withering winds encourage everyone—including the birds—to stay inside.