Welcome to The Heartland Album

Autumn schleps. Long shadows sneak up. The green canopy of summer turns red and orange and yellow. Screaming colors sift down to become a crunchy carpet covering the patio. There is still the occasional warm afternoon outdoors to listen to the cicadas shout and to read. During the summer would follow a shadow along the bench of the patio table. Now I ooch myself along the cedar planks to follow the sun. My October science magazine lies open on the table. In one sitting I've almost finished reading it front to back.

An article in the magazine describes in great scientific detail how on the first day of autumn two Herculean hands grasp the earth by its north and south polls. The north hand pushes. The south hand pulls against the tilt of this giant gyroscope to move the top pole away from the sun. Hercules nudges a spot near the equator with his right knee.

This keeps the earth moving in a slow lateral motion that describes a 90 degree arc in the plain of the galaxy. That motion will take three months to complete. (Scientists, the article says, are still arguing about whether or not that knee action explains the start of the hurricane season.) The essay, of course, goes into far more of the complexities of nature. Fascinating!!

Above, bare branches form a net that tries, In vain, to seine the weakening rays of sun. But the pin oak branches are not bare. That's a shy tree and doesn't like to be naked through the winter. So it clings to part of its cloak through the coming months of blasting wind. Only the fresh new leaves of spring will gently nudge off the last of the wrinkled shells of last session. Autumn schleps.

From inside the house a cup of hot coffee calls to me. The magazine waits. One pin oak leaf ratchets down to mark my place while I go inside. A north breeze approaches and reads the magazine from back to front.