The hummingbirds arrived here April 12. They departed September 22. That's five months and one week. Nearly half the year. So I shouldn't complain when I saw only one "bed and breakfast" migrant this morning, and she may be the last. It's just. . .
. . . that summer made me feel so RICH. Up to my shoulders in grass; turnips early and tomatoes late; hills tufted with broccoli-green; five kinds of basil; dew; I saw and reveled in it all. Then today, the autumn equinox.
To cure my panic -- because the thought of winter makes me feel put-upon and poor -- I hiked a prairie and saw my first blue gentians. I found a teepee stitched together with twigs and went inside and lay down; the light sifting inside was gold, and the sky above the lodgepoles bright blue; it is always autumn inside a teepee.
Autumn lasts as long as summer. My 51st autumn, leading into my 51st winter. Dread it? What for? This is my royal road!