A cool August afternoon

The calendar says August, the month of 'dog days" and sweltering heat, but the breeze from the north is cool and refreshing. I sit in the glider on the deck with a book in my hand, reading while the wind chimes play their tune and hummingbirds flit about, performing aerobatics with incredible speed and precision.

To what do we owe this respite from summer? Autumn is still more than a month away. One branch of the dogwood thinks it's autumn already; its leaves have bronzed and stand out against the green forest curtain — willow oaks, a chestnut oak, a Bradford pear, pines and sweet gums — as the yard slopes away from where I sit. A few leaves have given up the fight for life and have fluttered to the ground to lie in the grass awaiting the rake I have not yet unsheathed. The pines know it's nearly time for fall; they are as far ahead as the stores' displays of Halloween and Thanksgiving wares. Pine needles litter the lawn and the driveway. I will collect them, heap them into a pile and use them for mulch in the plant beds.

But raking can wait. Let me savor this afternoon of low humidity, blue skies intersected by high, filmy clouds, and that breeze from the north that blows away all my worries for just a little while.

A hint of autumn is in the air

The chill in the air this morning was faint but refreshing. After a fortnight of scorching heat and suffocating humidity, the contrast was obvious. Feathery clouds sprinkled the sky like a dusting of talcum powder on a blue silk scarf. A breeze ruffled the trees and tickled the skin. The air we inhaled felt different, cleaner, sweeter, lighter, sharper, altogether better than the heavy, moisture-laden air of recent days. I wanted to stand there and breathe it in, fill my lungs until they sing out.

August lingers on, but autumn — glorious, hearty, lovely, colorful autumn — is hiding just ahead, tossing out little hints of what's to come. Like this morning.

Autumn has arrived

The chill in this morning's air signaled that autumn really has arrived. The walk in short sleeves to the end of the driveway to retrieve the morning paper was cold, the temperature below 50. I dug my hands into my pockets. The forecast calls for warming into the upper 70s and even warmer tomorrow.

But autumn surely is here. In the deep black sky this morning, I saw Orion leading his hunting dogs across the celestial sphere. Last night, a half moon shone like a beacon, peeking from behind the pines against the velvet sky.

On Saturday, I had dressed for a warm day on the sunny side of the college football stadium and came home with a "farmer's tan" along my upper arms. But when the sun went down after we arrived in Raleigh later that day for the Bluegrass Festival, the warmth of the sun disappeared, and the brisk breeze blew frigid air that had me wrapping my torso in my arms to keep warm. A borrowed long-sleeve T-shirt gave some relief, even as the musicians on the outdoor stage complained that they were so cold they couldn't feel their fingers.

More warm days are coming, but fall has arrived. Leaves have begun to litter my back yard, and soon they will be as deep as the sea foam at the edge of the surf. I will spend weekend days with a rake in my hand, trying to confine the botanical discards to their assigned places even as a wintry wind stirs them out of place.

Shorter days, harsher light, colder nights are upon us. Today, the briskness is invigorating, but soon the cold will reach my bones, the darkness will shadow my mood, the weather will turn treacherous and we will long for warmth and springtime once again.

A chill in the air, and altered sunlight

I feel the chill in the air and welcome it after so many spring and summer afternoons working in the hot sun. Saturday's chill came unexpectedly simply because I had not looked at the forecast, somehow assuming that summer's warmth would continue through the weekend. I borrowed a jacket from my son for a chilly walk through his Greensboro neighborhood, reveling in the brisk breeze and the changing leaves. We needed only the aroma of a wood fire to think that winter had fully arrived.

The sunlight is different. After last weekend's dreary clouds and misty rain, the sunlight is back but no longer the same. Its obtuse angle gives a different feel to the daylight. It is the difference between a spotlight set too low and a broad-spectrum floodlight shining high overhead. Driving west in the late afternoon on Friday, I shifted my eyes and my whole body to take the glare out of my eyes and to avoid being blinded by sunlight on a plane with my face.

Light is quickly receding. Darkness slips in before dinner is done, and the night stretches out to cover more of every 24-hour span. The artificial creation of Daylight Saving Time will soon be repealed until next year, and the darkness will push out the light before the end of every workday.

Last week, walking out to the driveway to retrieve the morning newspaper, I looked up at the cloudless sky and saw Orion stalking prey across the black sky, the surest sign that winter is on its way. Nature's time cycle continues its revolution, and it is good.

Autumn announces its imminent arrival

September announced its arrival Tuesday with a cool front, a refreshing breeze and crystal blue sky. I tore myself away from this keyboard, from hunting for jobs and from writing and went out to breathe in the crisp air with that taste of Saturday afternoon college football crowds and to do a little work in the yard. At lunchtime, I sat on the deck to eat a sandwich, feel the breeze and listen to the music of the wind chimes.

Early this morning, Orion the Hunter twinkled in a sky not quite black but not yet blue. Sirius, the dog star, trailed behind him, just above the treetops, and the temperature in the 50s found me in long sleeves for the first time on our early-morning walks. The winter sky has always been my favorite. Bright, easily identifiable Orion dominates the southward view in winter, when lower humidity clears away the haze and sets the stars ablaze against the blackest background. Orion faces Taurus the Bull's bright V shape and the faint Pleiades, whose cluster of stars becomes a collection of innumerable sparkling gems when seen through a low-power telescope. Sirius the Dog Star trails behind Orion and sets the standard for brightness — anything brighter is not a star but a planet. This morning, Venus was hanging low in the east, about 30 degrees from Sirius, its glittering brightness like a spotlight in the sky announcing the imminent arrival of the sun, which will fade all these points of light to nothingness as the whole sky turns bright blue from horizon to horizon.

The calendar says three more weeks of summer before the sun crosses the celestial equator, heading south toward the winter solstice in darkest December. But the sky and the stars and the air and the breeze tell me that autumn has arrived. It's here. The tomato plants are withering; the day lilies have gone dormant; the nandina's berries are growing red. Summer is gasping its last hot breaths, and fall — refreshing, cooling, invigorating fall — is at the threshold.

Autumn paints the landscape as solstice approaches

The last few days have painted eastern North Carolina in unusual beauty. The autumn colors are sparkling beneath a deep blue sky. The low humidity and cool nights have turned green leaves into reds and golds, and the blue sky forms a matte for nature's painting. The low-hanging sun glares on leaf-covered lawns and blinds drivers.

It's still six weeks until the winter solstice, when the daylight marks its shortest span. Until that date the darkness seems to be winning its battle against the light. Our ancestors celebrated this mystical date, when the conquering darkness begins to recede, when daylight begins to regain its strength, when light and warmth at last prevail over the fearful power of cold and dark. You can still see bits of these ancient joyous celebrations in modern Christmas traditions, by which Christians co-opted the ancient solstice celebrations and Roman Saturnalia — the lighting of candles, the collecting of evergreens, the nighttime festivity, the yule log.

As the darkest of days approaches, we are treated to nature's most spectacular display — colors unknown through 10 months of the year. The flat land of North Carolina's coastal plain lacks the spectacular views of the mountains four hours to the west, where the bright colors seem to go on forever, crease after crease of reds and golds spread out like a rumpled quilt. But even here, where there are no peaks or overlooks and few hills worthy of the name, the colors are spectacular, and even a stroll through neighborhood streets can dazzle the eye.

I spent a couple of hours Monday blowing and raking leaves in my yard, repeating the work I'd done just a few days before. This annual labor of autumn is the price we pay for the spectacular combination of red and gold leaves against a blue sky. It is well worth the cost.