The first few days of November have been atypically warm, more like mid-October than the blustery weather that is more expected. I find it hard to complain much about 70 degree weather and gorgeous late fall light. The fall colors that remain have faded from brilliant yellows and reds into shades of bronze, but the mountains are still beautiful.
The leaves of summer now litter the forest floor, and it is impossible to walk quietly. The leaves, as yet undampened, are as crunchy as crumpled paper and as light and airy as snowflakes. The Shelties are belly-deep in leaves, and they are above ankle deep for me. So it is difficult on this rare November day to grouse about temperatures so far above normal. Instead, I simply enjoy the afternoon, marveling in the golden shades of light.
So many leaves are off the trees now that for the first time, I can see the mountain to the west of me, though it is not yet as clear a view as I will have when all the leaves are down. I can see partway down the mountain, now, and the porchlight from across the valley bobs in and out of view at night with every slight breeze.
The sweet little fawns of summer have no clue about the winter ahead or the fall hunting seasons. They stand still as I drive by, Baby Dog hanging out a rear window staring at them. But she doesn’t bark and the now spotless fawns don’t flee. A few birds of summer remain or perhaps they are birds that nested much further north than here that have now reached this area in their flight south. A palm warbler, about the same color as its surroundings, pops up among a host of goldfinch, juncos and song sparrows. We stare at each other for a second or two and then it is off. I hope the warm weather is an aid to its southbound journey and that its travels are safe.