The spin of the Earth has caused Autumn to arrive here. I live in an area rural enough to be surrounded by trees and a stream. Route 29 hums by my house. Turn left and I head into the sprawl of suburbia that surrounds D.C. Turn right and I'm in the foothills of the Blue Ridge mountains.
Autumn's cool nights have settled in. Song birds have flown. The chorus of summer insects has become small bands, duos and solos. The old house I live in always seems to invite a cricket in at this time. Listening at night a cricket will often be singing it's last songs. Offering a slow solitary voice. The voice of Autumn.
