We see few birds on our morning walks now. I still hear a few—crows, of course, and often jays. Surprisingly to me, bluebirds are another early riser. I don’t see them, but I hear their soft calls as we pass the ski slopes, one of their favorite haunts. Occasionally, I still see an eastern kingbird near the end of our walks, but the noisy chorus of early May has fallen into near-silence now.
Earth’s seasons are long enough that the changes coming with the latest one always seem a bit of a surprise to me. I know the mornings are quieter in fall than in spring, but the newly quiet mornings still feel unusual and a bit of a shock to me. That bit of surprise nature brings me with each season’s change is one of my favorite things about the year. One season stays around long enough for me to get used to it, and then the next one’s charms seem fresh and again. I might not feel that if seasons only lasted for a month, and it would be quite a shock, I think, if seasons lasted a year. Instead, a season’s length seems just about the right length, long enough to enjoy one and short enough not to feel panic at the onset of the next.