The Turning Seasons

We just passed the autumn equinox—though there have been other things on the horizon (Rhine River trip)—the days are shorter, the mornings cooler, the colors heightened. Last night after work instead of going straight home, I rode around Lake Lansing and off beside the road the tops of trees were red and yellow. We’re still a long way away from peak foliage, but the sun slating through the trees and a haze in the air lent itself to Indian Summer—that brief respite before the big chill. It was about 80 degrees as I cycled.

People were out walking and running and cycling. I saw turtles and herons tucked into the woods beside the road. Geese were flying and honking overhead

Something Told the Wild Geese
by Rachel Field
Something told the wild geese
It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
Something whispered,—‘Snow.’
Leaves were green and stirring,
Berries, luster-glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
Something cautioned,—‘Frost.’
All the sagging orchards
Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
It was time to fly,—
Summer sun was on their wings,
Winter in their cry.