Autumn Has Officially Arrived

My favorite season, Autumn, has officially arrived. The astronomers define the exact moment of seasonal change, but for me it’s more about temperatures and changes in light. In Michigan’s Upper Peninsula where I now live, temperature changes often start in August. Gone are the days I used to have to jog early or late in the day. Now I try to run in the midday warmth. I have to put on a blanket at night to sleep with the windows open. Mornings I often need to light a fire in the wood stove to raise the interior temperature to comfortable. Night skies are clear and with shorter days I can easily find Cassiopeia before heading to bed or early in the morning as I rise before the sun. Our prevailing winds shift from SW to NW.

Back in the dark ages when each sport had its own season, I played my favorite sport in Autumn. I reveled in playing soccer throughout high school, college and even a few years of semipro before joint problems put an end to that pleasure.

Autumn is about transitions. Many birds migrate during this season. Shorebirds migrate mostly during late summer, but I live in an area with only a sandpiper or plover or three and hardly miss them when they are suddenly gone. It’s the passerines I miss. My ruby-throated hummingbirds have moved south. Hummers (the birds, not the vehicles) are the hardest working avian: up before dawn, still feeding after dusk. The ethereal call of veeries and wood thrushes are now silent. Ruffed grouse (referred to as partridge in these parts) are moving around more and the least wily are ending up in hunter’s bags, although for another week or two the leaves still provide them decent cover. Deer are also moving in the woods as the bucks start to hormone-up for rutting season.

And of course the most obvious sign of autumn is the changing leaves. For us, high color is usually the third week in September—which incorporates the official Autumnal start. In good years the colors are absolutely stunning, rivaling anything New England can put on (and I’ve lived there too). In normal years they slide down the scale from absolutely stunning to merely marvelous. This year is one of those—too much wind and rain stripped the trees of some of their color.

However, only since I moved to these woods have I become aware of one of the finest natural sights this time of year. Late afternoon light slants through the forest—more open for the leaves now lying on the ground—casting long, long shadows. The light is a warm white and the world shimmers in its glow.


What, you wonder, has this to do with writing? Nothing and everything.

~ Jim