Sunday finally saw some much-needed rain on Roundtop Mtn. Fog and drizzle were the orders of the day, and the dampness even felt a tad chilly, which was a very welcome chill to me.
Migration is slowly picking up around the mountain. I counted over 100 geese on the biggest pond Friday evening and 20 cedar waxwings just a few steps from there. Migration sightings didn’t end then, either. Sunday afternoon, when it was almost too foggy to see, I found myself in the midst of a few visiting warblers—black-throated greens and a single Nashville, though it’s possible there were two of them. Still, however few or many there were, the warblers are a very visible sign the season is turning.
I’m happy to see the changes and am glad I don’t live somewhere where the weather is pretty much the same all year long. As it is, I chafe whenever summer lasts too long for my tastes, when the late fall takes on an unremitting browness after the leaves fall but before the snow. I look forward to the seasons changing and enjoy every little sign of each one. Unchanging weather would not be to my liking. Some days, the changes I do have seem to go a long ways between them. But not in fall, where the season moves quickly, almost too quickly to see each headlong rush towards winter.