There are a few golden leaves, but for the most part my garden is still having its last hurrah. The lobelia still bloom, as well as the geraniums and my undefeatable petunia plant. Fresh herbs from my pots still grace my culinary experiments.
The doves that abandoned my garden for a few years have now returned with their extended families. Who knows why?
Every living thing in the garden is all the more precious in light of the change to come.
A variety of birds grace our garden – wrens, doves, grackles, and a mystery night singer that may be a mockingbird. Like clockwork, the wrens greet every sunrise and sunset with a symphony of chirping. During the day, they swoop from tree to tree on very important business. The doves occasionally coo, and the grackles occasionally screech. From midnight to dawn, the mystery singer chirps, warbles, and trills in a variety of changing, complex patterns. I wish I understood the language of birds. They seem to have a lot to say.