A Penguin in the Orchard

The Equinox

It’s tough to explain the effect winter has on me. With autumn obvious in Iowa, I gave it a shot in today’s Penguin Shell:

In between the heat of the day and the cold of the night lies the fog, hugging
the reeds like translucent saran wrap in the hollows of the wetlands behind my
house. The ducks and the geese and the bullfrogs quiet as the fog settles in,
the silence harmonizing in perfect thirds with the glittering crystal skies and
the smell of fall that’s really an absence of any smell at all. Even tonight,
the ducks are huddling, ready to trade the respect given by drivers as they
cross the road in a single line for the long flights ahead.

In the next three weeks, the leaves will start to turn and drop. In the next
six, the baseball season will be but a memory. In the next eight, the time will
have passed when I can comfortably throw my leg over the seat and tear off down
the two-lanes where the smell of freshly mown grass and rich cornfields gets
deep into my shirt, a nuance known only when I return home. I’ll remember that
smell so well when the fall has passed.

I’ll spend more time at my computer over the next few months than I may spend the rest of the year. There’s nothing about the weather or sports that attracts me to winter. A lifelong Iowan, but a real summer person.