Like a slash from Canada’s Sword of Seasons, autumn seems upon us, although two weeks remain before the autumnal equinox. Always in my mind, when equinoxes or solstices approach, I envision the sine curve of increase and decrease of daylight throughout the year. It’s like a ribbon flicked up and down, its shimmering length forming steep-sloped curves that top out and bottom out gently at summer and winter solstices, respectively. The change in amount of light – either increasing or decreasing – is small near the solstices, so the long days of summer stretch on deliciously for weeks, as do the long, dark nights of winter, although the latter perhaps more cozily than deliciously. But on those steep slopes of the sine curve, where the speeding mid-way races of spring and fall occur, quickly lengthening days beckon one’s heart toward summer, while the opposite plunge it into the awareness of approaching winter. The fastest of the fastest changes is reached at the equinox, that time of equal day and night, when we throw ourselves onto the speeding sine-horse for the wild race into light or darkness.

Today, I feel the darkness coming. In mid-afternoon, the thermometer read 16°C, a far cry from the 28.5°C we enjoyed three days ago, the culmination of a tantalizing week or more of sunshine and heat. But the wind turned from south to north on Tuesday, driving the mercury downward. Yesterday remained pleasant, although cooler under sunshine, but today exudes wet gloom in calm air. Rain spills from the sky, and flocks of robins forage for worms and insects on the lawn, as they did months ago after their arrival in spring. Perhaps this late summer flocking, food-seeking behaviour bodes the birds’ impending departure. Northern flickers seek ants and other food on the lawn, too, their sleek, taupe-coloured plumages highlighted by spotted bellies, black bibs, and, in the males, red nape crescents. Hummingbirds continue to visit my feeders and find natural food in the hearts of hollyhock, coneflower, and beebalm blossoms colouring my gardens, although the zooming, hovering nectar-eaters’ numbers have decreased dramatically since the weekend. Last week, I observed confusing fall warblers foraging in shrubs while I picked blackberries on our property, the small insectivores undoubtedly stocking up on food supplies to fuel their long migration south.

Autumn is a time of losing and gaining – losing the vibrancy of migratory bird life, of flowers, of those long, delicious summer days, but gaining home-grown fruit and vegetable bounty, the luxury of dozens of Vilis’s pasture-raised chickens in our freezer, and the aspect of long months ahead to write. The Seeker and other writing projects slid beneath an avalanche of spring and summer outdoor tasks required to reclaim our property after a year away in Australia, and indoor renovations much needed to rejuvenate our 170-year-old farmhouse. But now, as I prepare to leap aboard the sine-horse for that wild ride into winter, I’m ready with pens, paper, computer, and camera. The projects? This blog, of course. Travel memoirs from New Zealand and Australia, a novel too long neglected, magazine articles from a nature nut, a book of inspirational writings. The possibilities are endless.

Check the May calendar for new entries from my trip to the Rockies. Lots of wildlife and landscapes!