Autumn moves through the meadow, rearranging it in muted colors. As the sun shines on tall grasses, they gleam with the silver of seed tufts. Thistles, whose purple crowns swayed in the breeze only a few weeks ago, now wear cotton thatches. Goldenrod, touched by frost, bows its bronzed blooms.
The meadow mirrors passing seasons. In the spring, daisies dance in the sun and wind carries the freshness of damp earth and breathes renewed life. Hidden in tall grass, a quail calls and another answers. A rabbit stands on his hind legs, his nose testing each scent. Shiny buttercups brighten the warming earth and acres of elfin bluets hug the ground.
Tangles of yellow honeysuckle burden the back pasture fence and its heady fragrance fills the air. Red honeysuckle, twice as showy and not half as sweet, adds to the labyrinth of heavy vines. Beside a cedar, a wild rose blushes and tiny-blossomed white roses perfume the air.
Snowy blackberry blooms give way to tiny red berries as days grow longer and warmer. Wild cherries burst forth with small, round fruit that slowly ripes, to the delight of hungry birds.
Under a silver moon, meadow folk who sleep during the day, hop, glide, or scurry through secret tunnels in the grass. A whippoorwill calls from a nearby stand of trees. An owl questions the darkness. Small animals crouch low until his shadowy wings glide past their heads.
The season changes and black-eyed Susans, nodding under a hot Oklahoma sun, replace the daisies and bumblebees drone among the profusion of wildflowers. Fragile butterflies hesitate over a confusion of petals. Cicadas add their shrill jangle to more pleasant summer sounds. Bouquets of Queen Anne’s Lace and Meadowfresh crowd each other. Red clover harbors hordes of hungry honeybees.
These long, lazy days lose some of their warmth and purple thistles lift showy blooms. Dragonflies dart erratically over the grass. Meadowlarks and quail still rejoice in the sunshine, but the nighttime voice of the tree-loving whippoorwill is still.
Monarch butterflies gather for their long southward flight. Hummingbirds decide it’s time to go. The grasses are a temporary haven for unfamiliar migratory birds who pause to rest and feast on seeds before flying on to their winter retreat. The bluejay’s raucous cry gives way to a flute-like chortle.
Then in the stillness of dawn, a new sound echoes above the blurred lines of dark meadow grass. Morning holds its breath as the lonely cry of wild geese haunts the sky. Autumn is here.
Now, the cherry tree is losing leaves to frost and the meadow is subdued. Soon, tall grass will stir like slender, brittle spears in chilling fall breezes. When winter rain coats them, each stem will be frozen in a clinking armor of ice. Rearranged by passing seasons, the meadow is a canvas for nature’s changing moods.
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