"Tang of fruitage in the air; 
Red boughs bursting everywhere; 
Shimmering of seeded grass; 
Hooded gentians all a'mass. 
Warmth of earth, and cloudless wind 
Tearing off the husky rind, 
Blowing feathered seeds to fall 
By the sun-baked, sheltering wall. 
Beech trees in a golden haze; 
Hardy sumachs all ablaze, 
Glowing through the silver birches. 
How that pine tree shouts and lurches!
From the sunny door-jamb high,
Swings the shell of a butterfly. . .”

Excerpt from “Late September,” Amy Lowell

O Charlie. Breaking out in the middle of the night to bark away all intruders. I find him whining at the door when I get up early. All is well. in this weather of warmth, this season of change and intoxicating views of trees and smells of wild grapes, I am eager to be outdoors. We go over the river and into the wide open meadow of brown Queen Anne’s Lace and orange/red leaves at the shore of the Charles. It’s another beautiful day of outdoors. I feel so filled by the rich color of purple eggplant in wild leaves. Before I walked this morning, as soon as I was up, I re-wrote and sent my monthly newsletter. (After I wrote and accidentally erased it yesterday. This happens sometimes, and actually, I wrote it better the second time.) I have a busy day of preparing for workshops later in the week and by tonight, now it’s done. I make a dinner of enchiladas that pleases everyone. And, at mid-day, the swim that is our ritual. A lovely stretching of legs too tight from sitting still. The dogs join us and we go to the pond. The water is even warmer. We swim around the island for our zesty chill. Charlie follows and there are a few swimmers today out there with us. We have this day, outdoors, and we are grateful. Amy’s poem above is so wonderfully, aptly descriptive of this astonishing time of year in New England.