It Doesn’t Feel Like Fall Weather

Lillian Mcconnell

According to the calendar, Saturday is the first full day of fall. Of course, that’s technically correct, but have you ever noticed that the gap between technicalities and truth can be as wide as the Mississippi?

In spite of the calendar, it just doesn’t feel like fall. For one thing, the hummingbirds are still squabbling on the front porch. They won’t be heading south for another three weeks or so. For me, at least, fall begins with their departure. When the year is nearly at its ebb, it brings that strange mixture of melancholy and anticipation. I am spiraling toward winter through the incredible beauty of autumn all around me.

Somehow, this year, things are different. The leaves have not begun to change colors. In our woods they’re still green except for the ones that lack of rain has turned a sullen brown. Where is the requisite cold snap that brings about the marvelous transformation: the dazzling gold, the rich russet, and the vibrant orange hues that signal the real change of season?

Clusters of black-eyed susans, rich yellow and dark brown, crowd the fence rows, but there should be burning bush as well, glowing blood red beside them.

No acrid smell of burning leaves makes my nostrils tingle. Well-justified burn bans account for that. Everyone hopes for the long, soaking showers that we do desperately need.

The air is still misty and heavy with summer humidity. This blurs my vision and gives everything a softer warmer look so typical of summer. The atmosphere saps my strength, and I feel perpetually weary.

If this were really fall, the days would be as crisp as ripe apples. The air would be brisk and clear and slightly chilly, filling me with energy. Autumn air clarifies the clean lines and sharp edges. It makes everything sparkle, especially the stars. It won’t really be autumn until all these events fall into place. Then the days will snap, crackle, and pop once again.

And that’s the view from Antioch Mountain.