A crow sits atop a pine sentinel. Instead of the usual cawing sound, its whole body jolts forward with each high “ack ack ack.” A call to a missing mate or will any crow do? A response comes from a distance—twice, but the crow continues for a few minutes, “Stay there; don’t move! I’ll be there in a minute!”, then flies in the direction of the response.
I can hear the breeze whooshing through the treetops before it stirs my hanging vines. It’s cool in the garden this morning but when I retrieved my sweater from the east window where I shed it, I found it toasty warm.
The nights are still cool but everything seems hardy to temperatures in the 40’s so I haven’t had to tuck the garden in lately.
Here in the Southern Piedmont, the maples and oaks are turning gorgeous reds and yellows. Sometimes my eyes believe that they’re back in New England, where we lived for two winters! Beautiful.
No comments:
Post a Comment