Seeing the Things We See

Over and over again since we moved, I have been reminded what a lovely place it is to which we have moved. 

The garden is mown down and tidy. But that is not it. It is the gorgeous yellow - not canary, not butter - but yellow with a tinge of green that the huge elm down at the lake has turned. 

We had a frost last Monday morning that was the ruination of my garden, but it was the glorification of the trees. Perhaps they had been changing and I just was not seeing. Now, I am seeing the scarlet sumac that I always look forward to and more color in the autumn trees than I  am used to. Possibly, it is being just a bit further north, and possibly, our recent rains 

helped.

The other thing I am smitten with is the fields. I purely love fields of green winter wheat - they just are so lush and look like somewhere one should lie down and watch the clouds.  On the country road I drive every day, some fields have been planted with something that was not harvested or at least not cut down - milo perhaps. The plants have turned golden brown, still neat in their assigned rows. In multiple fields, I see only strips and patches that have been cut rather than the entire field, but I do not know why. I know nothing about bird hunting, but I wonder if these plots are supposed to be providing food and cover for birds. Maybe even food for the deer.  Jack thinks the field across from us is patchy just because the farmer got tired of mowing, which is a funny thought.

I am not ready for this show to be replaced with winter.  I am still content with crisp beginnings and endings and warm in-betweens. I am more than content with the view, with seeing where I live.