Pussywillows, Cattails, Soft Winds....

For weeks now windows views have been hidden during the day.
Windows coverings kept the baking sun rays out, but did allow shadowy hints of what the world was like outside.

 

Beautiful in their own way, the plant shadows swayed in the warm breezes and teased me to come outside and play.

 

The ripening berries on the ever lengthening vines were plucked during the cooling sunset hours.

The rest of the day the vines bore up under an unchecked assault from gnawing insects.

This window is in our basement where we retreat from the daily heat to find a cool place to relax.

Air conditioning blows upstairs, blowing dollars away at ever quickening pace with each degree of coolness sought.

Downstairs...well, it is true that cool air is heavier than hot air and the cool air tumbles down the stairs faster than it fills the upstairs quarters.

But eventually....

One finds oneself driven to look again outside.

 

 

Could it be?

Could it really be fall already?

A look up our street says fall is seeping out from the mountains folds where it has been hiding from sight.

 

The calendar says it is still summer.

The thermometer in the garden says it is 94 degrees.

The mountain tops say the seasonal change has begun anyway.

 

A peek from our deck to Mt. Olympus:

A view I see every morning as I eat my breakfast and linger over coffee.

No...I swear it...no...the colors were not there two days ago.

Our volunteer sunflower plant that towers above me is now sporting its own color change.

The sunflowers are now bowing away from the sun, drooping in the heat, ready to face the ground and release ripened seeds for their own future journey.

Each leaf shows its veins and age spots dapple formerly green velvet shapes.

The summer vegetables are riping faster and faster each day in a race to complete their purpose in days that are still hot yet shorter.

The peppers store up the blazing summer heat too.

We will taste again the scorching heat of summer in our winter meals thanks to them.

Our small vegetable garden patch has run wild with tomatoes of every size and color, beans in three colors, eggplant in two, and broccoli heads now are quick to bloom if not swiftly plucked.

A trip to the market shows harvests of other sorts.

My cell phone camera is used to savor the textures and colors of summer harvests.

Locally grown watermelon piled high are almost too beautiful to eat.

The fruit...almost clown like with green stripes and splotches hiding the deep red meaty heart inside.

Each melon a work of art...

I treasure the changing seasons of Utah, but even California has its own seasonal hints.

Last weekend I made a quick three day trip back to San Diego again.

(The airfare was just too good to pass up....especially with the ocean temperatures at a balmy high.)

The date palms fruit was riping too...

 

 

Who says palm trees don't turn color?

Oh autumn is coming.

The time for harvesting fresh delights and outside summer dining still seems like something that will never end.

But the mountain above me tells me something different.

Summer will give way to Fall once again.

 

 

(All this talk about yummy summer food is really unfair to those whose diet is restricted to milk at this time.  Luke has contemplated his current dietary options, and has chosen to broaden his menu to include an occasional snack of baby toes instead of tomatoes.)

 

Years ago I fell in love with this song by the Canadian Gordon Lightfoot.
Each seasonal change that I find in nature makes me recall this song.
Someday I would love to figure out how to set my own photographs to the song.
And someday I suppose I will finally stop feeling a bit melancholy whenever I hear it sung.
That someday has not yet come....