Sundown

Spring is an operatic diva announcing her arrival on stage.  Summer lands with a thump like a little boy in his father's boots.  Winter either screams in with a storm or creeps in under cover of snow.  Fall is quiet.  It's that time of suspension just before sleep comes at night.  Leaves drift down, putting a blanket over the shoulders of the earth.  It's a melancholy season for me.  My only symptom of the "empty-nest" syndrome when my family grew up came at sundown, that time of day when I wanted my Kids home and tucked under my wings.  Autumn is the sundown of the year.

A covey of quail, a lamentation of swans, a pod of whales...and a murder of crows.  I wanted desperately to title this entry "A Murder At Farview," but decided that would be too inflammatory, although appropriate under the circumstances.  A murder of crows has taken up temporary residence here.  As has been said, nature abhors a vacuum.  The season may be a time of quiet, but the crows have come to fill that void.  They shout and scream with raucous caws throughout the day, inciting the smaller fowl to raise their voices in an attempt to be heard above the din.  I don't know where they came from.  I don't know where they'll go.  They certainly make their presence known while they're here.

Bessie Anne and I are a lot alike (and it's not just our hairdo).  If I take a nap one day, the next day I need a nap.  She had to take a walk after dark the other night...now we have to go out every night.  When I respond to her single yip by getting up, putting on a jacket and my lighted hat, and picking up her leash, she runs around flinging toys and then stands at the door waiting for me to clip on the lead.  Heading out, we are joined by Frank and Pearl and we all parade together around the driveway.  Bess does some serious sniffing along the way, stopping here and there to read the fine print.  The cats zigzag across our path and ambush each other from behind bushes, resulting in furious games of tag.  There's usually a pause down at the bottom of the circle and we all look at the stars for a bit before heading back to the lights of home.  There are worse ways to end a day.