Week 1Fall Week 1
Fall is hurricane season, and whenever the Gulf Coast takes a wallop, the rains barreling north usher in a few blessedly cool days in the midst of our usual heat and haze. I wouldn’t wish a hurricane on anyone, but I admit to feeling grateful for the rain. One September I drove home to Alabama while a gray mist turned the Appalachian foothills into a landscape of enchantment. Fog gathered in the valleys and edged the fields; shreds of clouds clung to the trees like a shroud. Solitude and silence made it easy to forget the existence of anything else. What is an automobile, what is an interstate, when all the world is folded into mist?
I have to work to love September, that in-between time when the heavy heat lingers but the maple leaves have already started to turn. Everyone is making ready—preparing in this time of plenty for the days of want ahead. In the garden, only the zinnias are still blooming, and even they are shabby and dusted with mildew. The gleaming crows cling to the power lines, panting.
The indefatigable bees and butterflies aren’t troubled by the zinnias’ curling leaves or the gray powder that coats them. Our resident hummingbirds are gone now, but weary migrants keep arriving to visit the fresh blooms. As much as hurricane rains in the Gulf can bring relief to us here in Tennessee, it’s wrong to hope for rain while butterflies and hummingbirds are on the wing. For travelers, the journey is long. For residents, the preparation is hard. For all of us, winter is coming.