A little fuzzy

I am still adjusting to the increasing darkness that comes with the turn towards fall. That adjustment is still a work in progress. There’s no getting around the fact that it’s easier to bounce out of bed in the mornings when it doesn’t look like the middle of the night outside.

Once up, dawn is slow to arrive, and the birds that follow and announce the dawn aren’t in any hurry either. If not for the constant whine of cicadas, the mountain this morning would have been virtually silent, punctuated only by the distant call of an early-rising bluebird. The butterflies that were so numerous last week are suddenly uncommon. This morning I couldn’t even find any goldfinch at the thistle buffet. This will take a little getting used to.

It takes a little getting used to every year, though after all the years I’ve spent on this earth, you’d think I would be used to it. But there’s something about the passing of 365 days that’s long enough for the normal routine of earth’s seasons to feel at least a bit new again. Even though I’m familiar enough with the routine, certainly the seasonal details grow a bit fuzzy by the time the year circles around again. So I’m still adjusting. I imagine I always will be.