A few weeks have passed since my last visit, and when I made my way to my place it was clear that fall has come. The ground was littered with leaves, the air was cooler, and the adjacent cornfield had since been harvested.
Upon arrival I realized that my place was no exception. Sheltered, low, and right on the river, my place has been a few weeks behind the rest of Burlington in regard to the changing seasons, but now it is finally succumbing to the inevitability of the incoming winter. The silver maples’ leaves have been turning yellow and now they line the riverbank and are tangled in the thinning, yellowing grass above the shore. A few herbaceous plants were going to seed. My place was quiet when I visited. The frogs are absent, and the grass no longer rustles with every step as they frantically hop to and fro. In fact, the only signs of animal life I noticed were the footprints of a passerby and their dog left on the shore of the river. I left my place early in the evening, and the sun was already starting to set over the Intervale. I’m sure that by my next visit further change will occur, and the sun will be setting earlier still.
A birds eye representation of my place
Fall has arrived
More tracks in the sand