Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I feel acutely sensitive to fall this year. I had thought this summer would be spectacular, and I was ready; but the drought that took hold of southwestern Michigan these past few months assured the demise of spring’s promise.

Now the weather is turning crisp. And rain, the rain we should have had weeks ago, has arrived. It’s too late for farmers’ crops, and maybe it’s too late to enhance the turning leaves of autumn. At the same time, my flowers are now beginning to bloom as they should have done in June and July. They must be confused. Yet, they provide smiles as I go about my weeding.

The acorn and walnut trees on our property are rife with nuts. It makes for a lawnmower’s nightmare; yet I’m glad to see the trees are well enough to bear fruit, given the drastic shortage of water this year. I’ve heard the local trees are stressed; and, lord knows, I do not want to add stressed trees to my litany of chores. So if they want to clog mower blades with their progeny, I will not whine.

Today I spent a couple hours in the yard battening the hatches for winter. I trimmed some overgrown perennials back, pulled some sassy weeds, and generally reveled in the day. Even when my yard overwhelms me, there is satisfaction in digging in the dirt. Fall is the perfect time to do this.