Autumn has finally arrived in Humptulips County after several fitful starts. The rain has settled in for a several day stay, and while the grass is still tan and sere from the summer’s insistent sunlight, it will shortly return to its usual vibrant green if the rains continue their autumnal grip. Summer’s tattered remains still lurk in the nooks and crannies of our weeks, and will likely reveal themselves on occasion in last-ditch, blustering defiance; hot cloudless days no doubt remain to us, but are now exceptions rather than rule.
It is time for fall. With my usual fickleness, I have grown tired of the summer and its long, hot, silent days. I won’t miss it for now, but I know a longing for it will return as a pristine winter fades into the weary, dirty remains of late February. But now I need fall colors and musty smells and the ferocity of autumnal storms pounding on a tightly sealed roof to sustain me – all of the evidences of the present year’s impending death, and proof of the continued truth of the seasonal cycle despite all of humanity’s attempts at corruption and interference.
However, I will miss the long morning and evening shadows on the grass of our fields. They are creatures of spring and summer, rarely sighted at other times of year.  A few may remain to us this year, if the summer does claw its way back now and then, and I will revel in them if they do come. I cannot seem to get enough of them, and I always regret their annual passing. I don’t fully understand their allure; I only know that they always lull me into contentment and allow my anxieties to rest awhile whenever they appear.
I think lengthy spring and summer shadows must be creatures of the night hiding in plain view in the brightness of day. I believe this because of my patient inspections of evening shadows from our porch – from the time when they first appear, while they grow, spread, and begin to mingle and coalesce, and when they finally knit themselves into the blanket of night using the warp and woof of magic. Those who think that a summer night springs from the heavens are not aficionados of shadow; in spring and summer, the night rises from the earth and seizes the light from the day, devouring it anew each evening as if it were another instance of fresh prey. You can tell this by the night’s smells – especially in summer; earthy, humid, and vital smells that say nothing of the clean, infinite clarity of the cloudless heavens or the acrid, corditic sharpness that must be the perfume of twinkling stars.
So I will not miss summer for now, even as I will miss the long shadows spread across the grass as they lie in wait. I may have seen my last for this year two days ago as I walked to our mailbox in the late afternoon. But, if I have, memory will serve me well until spring comes around again.
