Two days ago I borrowed a truck to haul two cords of wood home. Burning wood can be hard for me – I get so much from living trees and the act of burning anything puts various particles into the air. Fortunately our local supplier mostly cuts trees that are already slated for removal. The wood isn’t moved very far, so theoretically we’re not helping disease causing organisms spread far and wide. Some pieces were gutted with tunnels from before the wood was cut. I tried to avoid the various beetles, pill bugs, and spiders, but one spider hitchhiked on my shirt until my partner noticed the quarter-sized spread of legs and freaked out. I’m sorry to say that it was killed in the confusion.

We’re all preparing for winter. The yard was littered with brown leaves as the trees begin to shed their photosynthetic apparatus. Clouds and brisk air added to the autumnal feel. Summer and fall have been playing tug of war with the weather. Last week I stepped out of work into a steamy, oppressive haze. The landscape blushed orange, yellow and pink. Many trees had sparse canopies of brittle leaves, and goldenrod leaves had collapsed in on the stems to conserve water.

I walked into the dappled shade of the forest, where the air was warm but comfortable. The last bout of cool weather also brought our precipitation back to normal. In the rain soaked aftermath, the mulch paths smelled of damp earth and mushrooms. Now mushroom patches erupted along sections of the trail. Individuals crowded against each other, turning round caps into many-sided polygons. Patch color ranged from white to smoke-tinged. Some were sacks of brown spores which puff into the air when disturbed.

I walked across the boardwalk that passes over wetlands. Frogs announced their presence with shrieks as they flung themselves into the dredges of water clinging to depressions. The thick prehistoric undergrowth of ferns was tinged yellow, and some edges were burned brown. Before returning to work I passed through a younger section of forest with a more open canopy. The temperature rose noticeably. Sensitive ferns lay withered along the trail, not even waiting for the frost which their name refers to. Much of summer’s glory is conquered by her own excesses long before winter closes in.