On the Verge

The last time I wrote here was to talk about the arrival of spring in the Yukon. 

And now, here we are at the tail end of summer, with autumn creeping in.

It comes first on the air: a chill in the early morning that lingers until close to noon:

the day warms, 

and the damp earth gives up the scent of 

dry grasses, over-ripe berries, mushroom forest floor.

Before long, the leaves begin to turn. 

Always the willows first, 

their pale green leaves turning brown--harbingers of the season's change. 

Then, patches of birch and aspen flash golden:

a single bright flame in a hillside of trembling green.

On the forest floor,

unexpected colour:

the fireweed's leaves turn red,

its purple hips release their seed on the wind. 

Wild rosehips and bearberries ripen red, 

and the tart, highbush cranberries await the first sweetening frost, 

their leaves a deep scarlet red.

The days are noticeably shorter, the sun a little lower in its rounds.

The nights are dark, now,

and the moon is faintly visible in the sky.

I welcome it back,

welcome the darkness and the cool.