September begins.


Cool nights, warm days lately. Each morning, everything is covered with dew; the night weighs heavy on the leaves until sunlight cooks it off. The garden is quiet in sound but loud with color. I'm looking forward to fall but at the same time, dreading the last of how green everything will be until next spring. 

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Head clearing pond visit. Wellfleet, MA. 

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I opened the back door the other day the same moment a Cooper's hawk flew into a nearby tree. I stood perfectly still and watched. The bird did the same until he flew off - flap, flap, glide - like they're known to do. I ran to follow but lost him somewhere in the roofline, treeline, skyline. I stared at every shadow in the leaves thinking it was a feather, each sun-streaked highlight thinking it was a wing. But the hawk was gone. 

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 From a September Saturday at First Encounter Beach, Eastham:

Named after the first encounter between the Pilgrims and Native Americans.

This was Nauset land

 

 


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