That time of year

Don't forget there's a Lunar Eclipse tonight! Tomorrow is the Ides of National Poetry Month. Yesterday the weather and my mood were a pretty good match. I spent more time than is good for me grumping about the gray, cloudy day. It wasn't a bad day for reading and getting caught up on some filing but I'd yet to buy this season's fishing license or get any rods and reels ready for an outing. I wanted to be out in sunshine and warmth doing something less productive but more fun than filing. I took a late afternoon walk, to confirm whether the pond up the road was ice free. It was. Back home, as the day was coming to it's close, one of the most spectacular sunsets I've seen in a long time exploded onto the western horizon. See for yourself (as is often the case, the reds in the "save for the Internet" version are washed out compared to the original).

One of Spring's spectacular sunsets          © harrington

We've now reached that time of year when we bring the bird feeder from the deck into the house each evening. The evening I get absent-minded and forget will be the night the local bear decides to visit. Such is life in the country. Scott County poet Frances March Davey has a poem in County Lines that captures one of my character flaws that often becomes particularly prevalent at this time of year.

Frances March Davey

Perversity

Why do I always wish
For other things—
For Indian Summer's smoky haze
In quiet Springs?

Why do I want the gentian's blue
Instead of hepatica's silvery hoods?
Why do I want the grebe's call?
Why do I long for Autumn woods?

Why do I always want some other thing?
In the Spring the Fall,—in Fall the Spring.

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