The author wrote from eastern Nebraska.
The oak trees are shedding acorns here to the delight of squirrels.
Despite seeming to wear jet packs, squirrels embody indecisiveness. They’re great darters, able to spin 180 degrees to leap in a different direction – sometimes beneath your car tire. Blood on your brake pads is disheartening.
Earlier, I stopped at my parking lot entrance as three gray squirrels, obviously yearlings, gnawed nuts on the lot’s main drag. They were oblivious to my presence. I waited a few minutes, then slowly rolled forward. Finally unable to play ignorant, they scattered safely.
The return of the squirrels’ Feast of the Acorns is caused by cooler, shortening days. Autumn has rumbled onto the western bank of the Missouri River with thunder and cold rain.
Summer’s back has broken. Everything seems aware of it, from raptors and their prey to the wind and glowering clouds. Car heaters are switched on. Furnaces spew warmth. Falling leaves spiral in the brisk breeze.
Summer wear is suddenly inadequate. Soon our tans will fade into Nebraska carp-belly white.
Farewell then, summer, until the next time we meet.
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