The higher country will soon be donning a scarf bright with a flamboyant dress of gold and scarlet, for she has a date to join the giant with frost in his hair who comes down from the hills every year about this time to join the festive dance of the seasons.
Old-timers insist when the handsome, yellow sulpher butterflies begin flitting in ever increasing numbers over lawn and field, that it’s one of nature’s reliable signals that autumn’s migration of mullet is beginning. Silver, gustatory, jumping delights that few anglers can seduce with their hooks and lines are beginning to move from the summering waters.
This week brings a shift, identified by a refreshingly cool breeze escaping from the northlands, leaving behind a painter’s frock splattered with all the bittersweet beauty of the rainbow colors of autumn.
The time of harvest speaks of falling nuts and scolding squirrels, cheeks stuffed with fresh purloined pecans. It’s time to put the lawnmower away, for hunter and fisherman souls can no longer follow blind routine but must go where the wild wind blows, following the beckoning flash of a deer tail, stalking a flight of doves or being knee-deep in mist of breaking waters on a lonely beach, watching sunlight flashing on scales where gatherings of gulls plunge into the blue green of ocean waters.