In a few more weeks the school busses will be back on the roads again. Meanwhile, the kids are buzzing with anticipation as they await the news of who their teachers will be this year. It feels almost surreal how quickly this summer has spun out, autumn coming at us like a ship on the horizon, moving swiftly toward the shore.

The deciduous trees have taken on a duller, sort of olive-y green “it’s almost over” look, which heralds the near-end of the season. Already the Burning Bush (Euonymus alatus) growing by the driveway is showing pops of red. It feels way too soon for this…

During the warmest part of an afternoon, the electric whine of a lone cicada can be heard. But the nights have been filled with a newer, much louder, jingle-bell cacophony – the dominant note not unlike the repetitive sound of a buzzer being pounded when the game show contestant knows all the correct answers. This deep sound rises noisily above the incessant and discordant chirps, croak, and beeps made by the rest of the chorale.

Out on the The Urban Porch ™ the hanging plants pathetically struggle on. Every time I think about finally removing them, they throw out a few more hopeful flowers, as if asking for another chance, so I guiltily leave them be. They are not an attractive sight, adding a sad tinge of seediness to what had earlier been an appealing visual. Actually, the entire porch is desperately needing a good sweeping, having become cluttered and gritty, losing much of its “hang out” appeal from earlier in the summer. The avoidance tactic is not to go out there as often. Just in case anyone missed it in previous posts, I very much dislike sweeping. Perhaps some less-humid morning I will get to it. Perhaps.

Late as it is, the potted fig tree has finally begun making a few tiny figs. Hopefully they will get large enough and come to full term. So far the squirrels have not stolen any. Every time I look at them, I silently will them to hurry up and ripen, but of course everything happens in its own time, if at all.

Black-eyed Susans have popped up all over the back yard.

The random, surprise, single vermillion Gladiolus that suddenly appeared two summers ago in front of the porch – and then didn’t return last year – has now unexpectedly arrived again. Just the one. I don’t recall planting it. This has prompted the simple, repetitive, Earworm of the Day – “I’m So Glad” – a blues tune written by Skip James and recorded by Cream (Fresh Cream, 1966). Now you can have it playing in your head too!

I’m so glad
I’m so glad
I’m glad, I’m glad, I’m glad
I’m so glad
I’m so glad
I’m glad, I’m glad, I’m glad

This is the time when Joe-Pye-weed arrives, blooming along the roadsides and medians, bees and butterflies alighting upon the tall, dusty-mauve clouds of flowers. For some unexplained reason, I have always liked saying the name of this plant. Joe-Pye. Joe-Pye. Joe-Pye! The rabbit hole I went down today trying to find out who Joe Pye actually was has taken many directions. While there have been numerous legends, the most recent and most likely valid conclusion points to a Mohican sachem (tribal leader/chief) by the name of Joseph Shauquethqueat, who lived in New York State and Massachusetts during the late 1700’s and early 1800’s. What his actual connection to the plant was remains up for debate.

In the cultivated fields, golden sunflowers nod their heads and dot the landscape with dark eyes, their fractal faces bending toward the light.

Not yet opened, the artichoke-shaped buds reach their raised fists toward the sky.

Colors of late summer are discovered on the woodland floor as well, smoky bugles emerge from electric green moss.

A small bouquet of Black Trumpets, gathered to add to an omelet….

Unfortunately, my original foraging spot produced only a scant few chanterelles this season….

However, another spot that had not even one mushroom last year ended up yielding many. There seems to be no clear explanation for exactly why this happens and no guarantees of when – or if – they will appear.

The deep purple of blackberries add to the late-summer palette.

This morning I awoke to a Creamsicle glowing dawn. As the sun rose and the apricot sky shifted to a soft, dream-like blue, a fan of clouds overhead created striking mackerel patterns that caused my heart to beat faster in appreciation. I was driving and did not stop to take a photo, but I found this one that is similar. August skies have their own special drama.

The days are perceptibly shorter now. Tomatoes, fresh corn and peaches abound at the farmer’s market, pointing us to autumn, as summer moves close to being over. I expect any time now, the migrating geese will let us know.

~*~