Poor Will's Almanack

The pieces of late summer fall into place, creating the season. The heat stays, but the rhythm shifts, the tones of the leaves are different, colors and sounds and scents all pointing to September. Cottonwood leaves are becoming pale near my house. In the park, black walnut, sumac, wild grape, sycamore, elm, box elder, and redbud are turning yellow. The katydids, which started to sing last week in my neighborhood, are in full chorus after dark. The cicadas have finally all come out and fill the

Just before sunrise, I went jogging at the edge of town: I heard the loud rattle of tree crickets; chirping of field crickets; doves calling; I saw a cluster of robins scouting the pavement and yards, but there was no robin chorus, just the steady chirping of the sparrow flocks; a cardinal sang toward the edge of town, but he was the only one. When the sun came over the tree line, a song sparrow, a red-bellied woodpecker called in the woods, and a kingfisher screeched across the pond. Near