The barn is quiet now. All the baby birds have left the nest and there will be no more broods till next spring. The pigeons walk on the barn roof with their bright orange feet. I see one black pigeon, the rest are variations of grays.
The wild oregano is fading, the purple flowers turning black. There are fewer beebalm, the fallen petals leaving behind bare pistils. Now Joe Pye Weed and Purple Loosestrife dominate the pastures and marsh.
I look for apples in the trees, but there aren’t any. It must have been that spring frost.
A deer eating in our neighbor’s field lifts her head and looks at me. I look back, and a moment later she lowers her head.
The nettles have grown back more bushy since being eaten by the donkeys and sheep. I guess pruning is good for them. I pick a few leaves and thank the animals.
