Just a couple of weeks ago we sat on the deck and admired the green, green, green of summer in Vermont. Alas, already it is changing. Warm temperatures are still predicted for the weekend, but the signs are there. Trees are starting to become tinged with yellow. The setting sun has moved to the south and says its "good-night" much earlier. There is a chill in the night air that just was not there a while ago. The crickets are full on
singing. There is definitely a while to go before summer is over, but the signs of its fading are upon us.
Autumn in Vermont is a beautiful season, but there is something about the transition period that has always left me feeling melancholy. Here, winter settles in like ursine hibernation. Spring slithers chameleon-like between winter and summer. Summer arrives like one of those choreographed flash dances. I guess it is the only season that gives warning. That bothers me.
Most Northerners are hardest hit with Seasonal Affective Disorder in March. That is certainly the time that sees the highest suicide rate here. Me, I always get the blues in mid August.