September: Minnesota mellow

After resetting some pocket gopher traps, while pulling more buckthorn (plus some cedar) to feed the brush pile for and Autumn Equinox bonfire, we saw a near collision in mid-air between a large, blue dragonfly and a smaller orange and brown butterfly. Did the dragonfly think the butterfly might be prey? Does the back yard need air traffic controllers? We'll probably never know. Both pilots resumed their flights in adjusted directions with no obvious sign of damage to fuselages or control surfaces. Looking back, for some reason many of our dragonfly photos seem to have been taken the first week or two of September. Maybe the cooler weather induces them to hold still just a little longer, so we can get them in focus?

ruby meadowhawk dragonfly

Photo by J. Harrington

Yesterday we discovered a female sweat bee in the passenger compartment of our jeep. Years ago we had a yellow jacket come in through an open window while we were driving, sting us on the shoulder as we unintentionally trapped it between our shoulder and the seat. Sweat bees are considerably more friendly, but then neither did we lean on the sweat bee.

roadside asters and goldenrod in September

Photo by J. Harrington

We've noticed more and more patches of leaf color as we've been driving about the past few days. Nothing really substantial yet, but the fringes of woodlots are turning reds and golds and yellows. Some local goldenrod is fading and going to seed. Other plants continue to provide attractive contrast to the sky-blue asters that continue to bloom. We doubt that Donovan had Minnesota's September in mind when he wrote the lyrics to Mellow Yellow, which is unfortunate, since, for the most part, they seem to pair up nicely.

                     September

By Joanne Kyger

              The grasses are light brown

              and the ocean comes in

              long shimmering lines

              under the fleet from last night

              which dozes now in the early morning

Here and there horses graze

              on somebody’s acreage

                               Strangely, it was not my desire

that bade me speak in church to be released

         but memory of the way it used to be in

careless and exotic play

               when characters were promises

      then recognitions.  The world of transformation

is real and not real but trusting.

                            Enough of these lessons?  I mean

didactic phrases to take you in and out of

love’s mysterious bonds?

                      Well I myself am not myself

           and which power of survival I speak

for is not made of houses.

          It is inner luxury, of golden figures

that breathe like mountains do

            and whose skin is made dusky by stars.

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