Days of Summer Past

It is time and past time to prepare for winter. There isn't a hint of autumn in the air yet, the days are hot, the nights are warm, but almost all the flowers have finished blooming. Wood needs to be cut, split, and stacked so there will be enough of it when the snow flies in November. There will be cool nights long before then, but the days will still be warm until then. And we'll reverse the way we do things, opening doors in the day to let in the heat and closing them at night to keep out the chill. This evening I can hear the crickets' chorus though an open window letting in the pleasant night airs.

Earlier today I cut down a tree killed by pine beetles. Its wood was stained blue by the fungus they carry. The chainsaw made short work of it, no more than ten minutes and it fell nearly perfectly where I had aimed. Tomorrow in the cool of the morning I shall do some more. A cup of tea at sunrise and then in old black clothing I shall act as the reaper of trees. Fifty years of summer days ready to banish winter nights from one small corner of the world.