The sea! the sea! the open sea!
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
— Bryan W. Procter excerpt from “The Sea” ca. 1837
click on images for full size
Q: What is a tree’s least favorite month?
Q: What tree can fit into your hand?
A: A palm tree
Q: How do trees get on the internet?
A: They log in
Q: Why did the sheriff arrest the tree?
A: Because its leaves rustled.
Q: What did the tree wear to the pool party?
A: Swimming trunks
Q: How can you tell if a tree is a dogwood?
A: By its bark
When is it each year that we relinquish the carefree days of summer?
When do we trade the universal perfume of freshly mown grass for the unmistakable scent of raked leaves?
Is there a specific moment when we no longer notice the smells of swimming pools and wet towels, but embrace the aroma of crackling fireplaces and baking pies?
Does autumn officially arrive only once we have donned our first sweatshirt, noted the earlier hour of twilight each day, or witnessed the first golden leaves of change on the trees?
Is there a specific moment in time when we are no longer aware of the rhythmic clacking of skateboards traveling past the house or admit to missing the hollow echos of nearby bouncing balls and the exuberant, joyful laugher of children?
Is autumn’s arrival evident only once we recognize a new quiet; a quiet hauntingly void of the sounds of chirping crickets and singing birds?
Do we hear autumn’s arrival in the thunderous sound of crowds cheering favored football teams to victory in the chill of the evening air?
Is this when autumn has truly arrived?
I believe autumn arrives the moment we notice.
On a wonderful summertime trip with two dear friends, we visited St. Elmo – one of Colorado’s best-preserved ghost towns. Legend has it the town is still haunted by its founding daughter, Annabelle Stark. Maybe you can see her peering through the grimy window of the old hotel? Or glimpse her reflection in the remnants of still-gleaming glass bottles long ago abandoned in the barnyard? And if you’re very still, perhaps you can even hear the sound of her clicking footsteps on the creaky old wooden boards of the sidewalk as she shuffles along keeping her ghostly watch on the town.
I’m pretty sure I saw her!