A Naturalist's Autumn Lament
Many people I know love Autumn. They love the crisp and cool air, the color of the leaves, the fragrance of pumpkin spice, and the awe of a Jack-o-Lantern. I loath Autumn. Everything that summer worked so hard to produce - the lush green foliage of Hickory Trees ( Carya spp. ), the showy blossoms of Hibiscus, the cheerfull calls of songbirds, the rhythmic trill of katydids, the gentle swoops of colorful butterflies, the splash of water from the neighbor's kids' Supersoaker fight, the low boom from the bass of Reggae music, the clinks and clangs of martini glasses on a balmy night, the beaches and marinas filled with happy voices, the proud croak of a bull frog, Popsicle drippings on the sidewalk, the sweet smell of Saucer Magnolia ( Magnolia sp.) flowers, fearsome thunderstorms, the swash of a canoe paddle, the blaze of prairie flowers - all begin a slow and gruesome death as the first waves of cold frosty air and biting windchills descend upon it all. The rub of cricket