September, Taking Wing

It is the first Tuesday in September, and village children are off to school, walked there (or just to the bus stop) by nannies, proud parents, big brothers and sisters, and occasionally family pets. I have known many of the kids since they traveled about in prams, and here they are going off to school. Dear me, how time flies.

This morning, yellow school buses are rumbling along village streets, something we have not seen for a few months. The cheerful crossing guard who has presided over a nearby corner for years was back on duty in his jaunty orange vest, and we compared notes on how our summers had gone. He went fishing and played a lot of golf. Beau and I tended our unruly garden and did a little rambling. We were happy with how things had gone this time around. Before the wretched tumble, that is. 

The youngsters wear jackets in confetti colors, carry backpacks and lunch boxes in pink, turquoise and lime green, tote miniature umbrellas patterned in flowers or bunnies or polka dots. They bloom like pint-sized peonies out in the street, and watching them from the window, I feel like doing a little blooming too.

Only a short distance away, other brightly arrayed offspring have hatched out in thickets and hedgerows and are strengthening their magnificent orange wings for the long journey south to begin in a week or two. I love this time of the year, but I am always sad when the kids spread their wings and leave home.

When monarchs alight on fall asters in the garden, the combination of orange, purple and gold is dazzling. Every butterfly is a stained glass jewel, a wild, vivid and breathtaking wonder. Lacking a clearly visible black pheromone spot on the rear wing, the butterfly at the top of this post may be female, but I am not sure. Sometimes the spot is not visible in profile.

There are vibrant colors everywhere we look in early September, and they are a sumptuous treat for old eyes. It doesn't matter whether the riotous tints are on Virginia creepers, monarch butterflies, coneflowers or tiny raincoats - they invite us to kick up our heels and dance, or more likely just stumble and lurch about.

September, Taking Wing

It is the first Tuesday in September, and village children are off to school, walked all the way there (or just to the bus stop) by proud parents, big brothers and sisters, and (occasionally) family pets. I have known many of the kids since they traveled about in prams, and here they are going off to school. Dear me, how time flies...

On our walk this morning, we counted several bright yellow school buses trundling along village streets, something we have not seen in our travels for a few months. The cheerful crossing guard who presided over a nearby corner last year was back on duty, and we compared notes on how our summers had gone.

The youngsters wear jackets in confetti colors, carry backpacks and lunch boxes in pink, turquoise and lime green, tote miniature umbrellas patterned in flowers or bunnies or polka dots. They bloom like  pint-sized peonies out in the street, and watching them from the window, I feel like doing a little blooming too.

Only a short distance away, other brightly arrayed offspring have hatched out in village hedgerows and thickets, and they are strengthening their glorious wings for the long journey south to begin in a week or two. I shall be sad when they depart.

When Monarchs alight on fall asters in the garden, the combination of orange, purple and gold is dazzling. Every butterfly is a stained glass jewel, a wild, vivid and breathtaking wonder. Lacking a clearly visible black pheromone spot on the rear wing, the butterfly at the top of this post may be female, but I am not sure. Sometimes the spot is not visible in profile.

There are vibrant colors everywhere I look in early September, and they are a sumptuous treat for these old eyes. It doesn't matter whether the riotous tints are on Virginia creepers, monarch butterflies, coneflowers or tiny raincoats - they invite me to kick up my heels and dance, or more likely just lurch about.

Friday Ramble - Taking Wing

Village children were off to school this week, and I watched them go, walked all the way there (or just to the bus stop at the corner) by proud parents, grannies, nannies, big brothers and sisters and family pets. I have known many of the school-bound kids since they traveled about in prams, and here they are going off to school on their own dear little sneakered feet. Dear me, how time flies...

The youngsters wear garments in confetti colors, carry backpacks and lunch boxes in pink, turquoise and lime green, sometimes tote pint-sized umbrellas patterned in flowers or bunnies or butterflies or polka dots. They bloom like pint-sized peonies out in the street, and watching from the windows, I feel like doing a little blooming too.

Only a short distance away, other brightly arrayed offspring are hatching out in village hedgerows, and they are strengthening their wings for the long journey south to begin in a week or two. When monarch butterflies alight on Michaelmas daisies in bloom, the combination of orange, purple and gold is dazzling. Every butterfly is a stained glass jewel, a wild, vivid and breathtaking wonder. Because of air pollution from forest fires in northern Ontario and Quebec, there have not been many Monarchs in the garden this summer, and I am "over the moon" whenever I see one. Why the passion for butterflies, you ask? They are beautiful, and they are the Old Wild Mother's proof of reincarnation.

There are vibrant colors everywhere we (Beau and I) look in September, and they are a sumptuous treat for these old eyes. It doesn't matter whether the riotous tints are on Virginia creepers, monarch butterflies, coneflowers or tiny raincoats - they invite me to kick up my heels and dance.  The truth of the matter is that I can only flounder and flail and lurch about, but that is quite all right.

September, Taking Wing

It's the first Tuesday in September, and village children are off to school, walked all the way there (or just to the bus stop) by proud parents, big sisters and brothers, and family pets. I have known many of the kids since they traveled around the neighborhood in prams, and here they are going off to school. Dear me, how time flies...

The youngsters wear jackets and sneakers in confetti colors, carry backpacks and lunch boxes in pink, turquoise and lime green, tote pint-sized umbrellas patterned in flowers or bunnies or polka dots. They bloom like pint-sized peonies out in the street, and watching from the windows, I feel like doing a little blooming too.

Only a short distance away, other brightly arrayed offspring have hatched out in village hedgerows, and they are strengthening their wings for the long journey south that will begin in a week or two. When the newly hatched monarch butterflies alight on Michaelmas daisies in the garden, the combination of orange, purple and gold is dazzling. Every butterfly is a stained glass jewel, a wild, vivid and breathtaking wonder.

There are vibrant colors everywhere I look in early September, and they are a sumptuous treat for these old eyes. It doesn't matter whether the riotous tints are on Virginia creepers, monarch butterflies, coneflowers or tiny raincoats - they invite me to kick up my heels and dance.