It's been a quiet weekend at the cabin. Summer is gone, but fall isn't quite here yet. Two inches of unpredicted rain fell Friday night, and some of the greenery has rebounded almost to spring's bright green.
Now that I could take my morning walks with dogs in daylight, I've discovered the pewees are still here. I heard a screech owl this morning, just after sunrise. It's the first I've heard them since spring.
So far, I haven't seen any sign that the summer birds have left, nor have I seen the winter residents appear yet. Sometimes I think much of the year is simply an in-between time. In-between winter and spring, in-between summer and fall, after fall but before winter. Shouldn't we have more seasons? Why only four?