We remain yet to be convinced that this is really, truly fall. Yes, of course, it's October 2nd. Can't believe that, either. That we're into October. Our two sons were born in October, 1959 and 1961. I can recall dimly that it was, by then in the calendar year, cold and getting colder. We're enjoying temperatures in the mid-20s, and chortling about it. There's been no rain for quite awhile, and the sun is renascent, beaming its golden rays down on us.

There are hints, of course, that fall has arrived. Our garden is beginning to deconstruct. Some of the most vulnerable plants are starting to take their leave. There are notable gaps here and there. But for the most part, the garden looks presentable. It certainly presents to us as still appealing. And the roses keep surprising us with lovely new flowers. 

In the forest, looking up high at the canopy it can be seen that there are bright colours replacing the monochromatic green. Oh, we love that green of all hues that dominate the forest. All the more so when it's about to disappear, although rays of sun streaming through the canopy endow them with an ethereal appearance of light filtering the vibrant green. Colour, however, is on the way. 

Hard to fix our attention on the coming season of winter, even though the firm we contract with to clear out our driveway after snowstorms sent reminders of their billing message a full month ago. Yes, in mid-September, that emailed message arrived. We must renew that contract. But it just doesn't seem -- well, appropriate -- right now when nature is continuing to indulge us in such magnificent summer weather. I keep telling myself I'll get around to it. I will -- eventually.

During our afternoon hike through the forest trails with Jackie and Jillie this afternoon, the atmosphere was so warm, the sun so insistently hot, it was actually a relief to descend into the ravine to the cooling shade of the forest canopy. Although our area is not a migration flyway, there are increasing numbers of birds passing through on their way south.

The water level of the creek is reflecting an abrupt lack of rain events, more than making up, one suspects, for the almost daily rain and thunderstorms that arrived in July and August. The forest floor is expressing its lack of moisture with widening cracks as each day goes by without rain. The last of the wildflowers are drying up. There are virtually no orchids left at all, the goldenrod is finished, a few asters remain.

Meanwhile, this is easy living, this initial part of fall. And it means there's no hurry to keep working in the garden to settle it in for the winter months. Usually by mid- to late-October is when the work begins in earnest and it takes weeks to finalize. And then there'll be nothing at all to admire in the garden. We're bereft, and it sulks. In the winter, it will be tucked in, under three to four feet of snowpack, fast asleep.