Two weeks ago, Old Jack Frost sneaked in, and got busy covering my grass with a thick coating of ice, and frosting the tomato plants.  Seeing all of this the last of the humming birds took wing and headed south in a hurry.  The winter birds haven’t yet appeared, so now I am left with only a few Meadow Larks singing their late evening, “Winter Is Coming” song.  And, of course my special pair of Ravens who are year round boarders that daily scavenge at the table of scraps which I provide.

It seems so very early this year, but already my eyes are feasting on the Cottonwood trees dressed in their gowns of bright gold.  The Russian Olives have donned a coat of grayish yellow, which will soon turn to brown, and underneath all of this, the low growing brush and vines flame out with vibrant colors of crimson and orange.  The taller trees tower over them all, standing proud in their still green leaves, only tipped with a smattering of pure gold. Artist paint beautiful pictures, but none can match this feast of living color which God has flung across the easel of this part of His world.  So here I set, bidding summer a fond farewell, while I am urging Fall to move a little slower, knowing Winter will soon crowd him out.

Elsie Fishgrab, Navajo Indians, Retired