feeling fall

My mother remarked this morning that the seasons in Maine change quickly, and arrive promptly. Indeed, fall is here. The leaves are just past peak here in York, and we have a couple of frosts behind us already. I can see my breath in the air when I leave for work in the morning, and I've had to pull out my wool coat and scarves.

I have found several bird's nests in the driveway, blown from the huge old balsam tree by autumn winds. Their occupants have flown the coop, their babies are grown. The animals are busy gathering this year's bumper crop of acorns. Arborists call it a "mast year" (a scientific phenomenon that occurs every 2 to 7 years) . . . but a neighbor told me recently that a lot of acorns means it will be a hard winter. Who knows, perhaps it's just an old wives' tale, but I've told the gentleman he had better get that pile of wood split for the fireplace.