Night Sounds

I hear an owl hoot. It's in some tree not too far away. There is no more wind, but various creaks and cracks still come from the darkness now and then. The oaks are dropping acorns, which punctuate the stillness as they thump on the ground or clatter on rooftops. The fall of dry leaves is audible, too, marking their descent through those still clinging to the trees. Many are now underfoot, and make a loud crunching sound as I walk out the drive to get the morning paper. Katydids can still be heard early in the night, but all fall still, one by one, as the air cools toward morning. The sounds of autumn are replacing the sounds of summer.

There are other sounds, as well. Raccoons are out, and several times I have heard them clambering over fences and rustling the brush and fallen leaves. There was also another animal, moving quickly, making less noise. I shone my flashlight into the dark and caught a glimpse of the bright yellow reflection of its eyes looking back at me from a yard down the block, but I couldn't tell what creature it was. It turned and swiftly vanished.

The smoke of the brush fires must be diminishing, as I can see the stars clearly in the midnight blue sky. Orion now passes meridian well before night fades. The horizon of trees which bound the sky is still massy with foliage. The view will expand with autumns advance, and grow more intricate as twigs and branches are revealed. The arboreal shadows of the next moon's night will still be dense, but the following moon will reveal the beginnings of that tapestry the waning year lays on the ground- the weaving of moonlight and complex shadows and decaying leaves into ornate designs that turn ordinary lawns and pavements into fantastical floors strewn with signs and symbols revealing the ravels of time.

Vaguely

Crisp air arrived a day sooner than I expected. The dogwood leaves flickered bright reflections as an afternoon breeze made them chatter. More stolid, the oak leaves barely stirred, except at the treetops where the wind was more intense. All the smoke has cleared, letting brilliant autumn sunshine warm the pavements even as the air remained cool. It might be expected that such a day would bring me a burst of energy, but it has instead pulled me into a condition of near languor, filled with reveries. Nightfall has gathered clouds, and offers the promise of rain. Still, I am unmoved by any sense of urgency, and allow my mind to drift, indulging in vague sentiment provoked by nostalgic thoughts. All are so insubstantial as to provide no purchase for words. I wander among vapors which pretend to be images, as though I slept and dreamed of dreams.