The topmost leaves of a maple sapling are brilliant scarlet as they fledge.
All sorts of apple trees are showing the palest of greens as the swelling apples appear among the darker leaves.
Bats are abroad in the evening air, fluttering about, able to fly more slowly and change direction more sharply than birds. I do not know how many I see, but at least two, one that flies one way and then another appearing ahead.
Many are the oddly colored squirrels about, but the one whose body is ordinary gray but with a tail of white and black splotches is odder than most.
Roses still abloom. Bushes of red flowers, ones of orange and pink where the older blooms have paled, through every shade toward white, ones of yellow in every shade to cream.
Up the road, some pedestrians are looking about at something. And then, level with me, a fox comes sauntering down the driveway. It's distinctly lean, and its pelt is red grizzled with black, and its tail and ears and legs are all black. It saunters off, and the other pedestrians exclaim that was what vanished up the road. (There have been other foxes, but all all red)
A bird calls, just before midnight. It sounds very like a mourning dove, but -- it's just before midnight. Also the note grows tremulous, which is unlike them.
Autumnal August: a thistle almost all in seed -- but having some purple flowers yet -- has a goldfinch in brilliant yellow and black perched on it; the Japanese anemones blooming pink with their yellow hearts; the goldfinches flitting away whenever I come around the house. (Though I don't MIND their eating the coneflower seeds, they are, after all, birdbrains.)
The apple tree leaves look kinda withered and brownish, but the apples are pale green and round.
A bird takes off over a parking lot, perhaps a gull, or a hawk -- but it turns and becomes clear, with its neck in a u-shape and its long heron legs trailing behind.
What is the tree, with its dark jewel-red fruit awaiting birds?
The hurricane lifted a rose, with leaves, from the rose bush and tossed it to the ground. (Also knocked over a mail box.)
A hawk flits off the bridge toward a bush. Then, moments later, it lifts off the ground it landed on to fly a little farther down the path. Finally it flies into brush on the other side. (Giving an excellent view of its black and white checkered feathers.)
Gray stands among the grass by the pool (or puddle). The heron is soon hidden again behind the tall grass.
It rained. Along lines in the grass, mushrooms grow out of a tree, leading to deductions of where its roots have perished.
The hurricane came through. The brook is in full spate, with all the waters ruddy brown and opaque from the dirt they carry. In places it rushes about rocks and fallen wood, in others it is quieter than before because all the rock is below the surface. In the meanders the effect is clearest. Where the bends spread out, the plants are utterly flattened, though they were tall, with thick stalks.
The asters are merely buds in the beginning of September, when I've known them to bloom in July before.
Some trees have boughs full of dried, colorless leaves, as if they were too stressed for autumnal color. Perhaps locally, since it's not been a drought.
Thunder wakes me and rolls on and on and on. With no change to show it was another roll of thunder, in volume even, but very long for a single roll.
There are pegs on the garden. Except, no, they are mushrooms. All white. Perfectly flat on top, tall, and all exactly the same height where they sit as if set out in a rectangle.
The stream does indeed babble louder now, when it has receded so far from the banks that bars of clay and peddle rise above the waters, and the plants on the meanders are starting to rise up again after the flood.
A rain burst is followed by a lovely arching rainbow. Driving about the streets suddenly brings it up in more blazing color where it was hidden, and with a double rainbow echoing.
A bat is easier to see with the sunset behind it. The sunlight through its wings differs from that of a bird's feathers.
A shadow falls over a house, and so I look high, high, high up to see the hawk. Its belly and the bottoms of its wings are so white -- albeit with brown patterns on the edge -- that it looks like a moth, an enormous moth.
A fox stands, like a sentinel, its nose toward the sunset and its body all coppery, with some black about its head. Then it scratches, and its legs are black-grizzled. But it's not the one I saw earlier because the body has less black and more red.
Two apple trees, both with the leaves looking dingy and sparse, but one with pale green balls of unripe apples, the other with bright red of ripe.
A cat, chunky, calico and white, sits in the middle of the walkway. Gets up to scurry ahead of me, looking back again and again to see I'm still following. Finally scrambles up on steps and to its relief I go on. Then I come back. And it's cornered itself. It has to squeeze between slats and jump down into the garden and give me the wary eye as I go in.
The geese line up along the bank like carefully arranged rocks, smoothed and gleaming.