It's still summer time, but there've been a few unwelcome yellow leaves in our road.
Maybe that particular tree was old, or too dry – but all the other trees and bushes and grasses are verdant and healthy. Lifeguards are still at the local beaches, and it's above 80 degrees. Tomatoes are beginning to ripen, lettuces are good, corn still growing and new husks peeping through. So what's with this tree, dropping yellow leaves near the driveway?
It's summer 2014. After that brutal winter, not yet completely erased from the memory, it's been – in the north-east anyway – blue days, 80s plus, high 50's at night, and no air-conditioning needed. Cool nights and crisp summer days – not even (as of August 26th anyway) lurking hurricanes to threaten and devastate the eastern seaboard – as two years ago.
Brilliant red geraniums go on budding; frilly petunias with skirts of white rings around their purple funnels undulate in the breeze; sturdy leaves of a plumeria embrace the sun as a young boy would expand his chest to take in the summer rays.
Elsewhere, ambitious Putin cohorts have managed to shoot down a Boeing777, killing all on board; Palestinians and Israelis have shot rockets at each other for weeks, achieving only misery and destruction, each declaring victory rather than the 2-sided loss it really is. With long historical roots to those lands, neither side can sort it out. Not far away, a self-proclaimed caliph has insisted that his Shariah brand of Islam will solve everything, and those not adhering to it must be killed. And, as always, the overtone: “death to America”, “death to the west”, “death to the infidels.”
There was a ¼ inch of rain last night. In the early morning, with low sun behind the trees, new fresh air came through open windows, sweet and invigorating. No auto exhaust, and noise, as in town – just rich oxygenated sweetness, reminding me of teen-age camping.
A day-care woman has placed a 20 month old baby on the floor, and stood on his stomach to quieten him. The child is dead.
On a bicycle the air rushes and flows past me now, while occasional deer and squirrels cross in front. The law advises helmets, of course, but that cuts off half the untainted, invigorating freshness blowing past. Very sensible, of course – but must grasp freedom, sometimes.
Two hours, in the shade with a book, by a lake. The cool swim, while the afternoon sun disappears only for brief periods as tufts of high white clouds float by.
Don't know what those yellow leaves were up to, lying in the road, as if it were autumn. Queen Anne's lace is out in strength; edible-leaved blue chickory in the roadside; the tiger lilies, also edible, are only just over; summer's still strong. Isn't it?
But no, there's another hint; college towns are busy with masses of traffic. Noise levels are rising. While for some it's still shorts and sandals and lightweight teeshirts along the street, for others, administrators and executives especially, there is the uniform of suit, hard shoes, tie.
Wild turkeys have arrived, wandering across the lawn, so they must also detect something.
Ah, how could summer pass so quickly? Only a little while ago the sun set at 8:35 pm. Now, darn it, it's setting at 7:30 something – and that late evening walk has had to be curtailed. Earth will not delay in its orbit, of course; it's already rushed us one third of the way around between mid-summer and mid-winter. What a great summer! And now, Oh no! A few more leaves have fallen, and a couple – dear me – are even red.
Dr. David Nightingale is Professor Emeritus of Physics at the State University of New York at New Paltz, and is the co-author of the text, A Short Course in General Relativity.
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