Small Wonders

Easter is past, and the calendar claims that Autumn is upon us.  While some of the trees are trying to agree.....

the vegetables aren't so sure.  The bees are still finding food from unexpected sources, as a late batch of corn blooms in our garden (we picked some today - sweet, and plenty more to come, which is unusual, as the frosts should have arrived by now).  The tomatoes and beans are still offering up food, while the pumpkins have ripened nicely - at the same time as the cabbage, cauliflower, brocolli, onion, and pea seedlings are all burgeoning.  A day ago the snow peas opened their first blossoms, so that it something to look forward to.

Other insects and small life are busy, too, and a porch light left on overnight attracted moths to the wall beneath it - to the delight of this tiny spider....

Yet, when I went fishing out along the Cox's River a couple of days ago, the algae that normally send the water green during the hot, slow days of Summer was flourishing.....

Flourishing to the extent that a blue-green algae warning was issued the next day for Lake Lyell, a few kilometres downstream from where this picture was taken. If you are wondering why there are no fish-pix, the big ones all got off after brief tussles - only the tiny ones were willing to pose for a photo.

As Seasons Fleet

Though the autumn colours are still bright in our gardens and along the hillside across the valley, already nature is preparing for spring.

The wattle may still be three or four months from flowering, but the delicate buds are already reaching out to brighten the coming dullness of winter. Not far away, the pine is readying itself for the return of warmth and light, as the tightly coiled embryos of the next summer's growth prepare to explode.

Our landlords, the resident Magpies, are still minding the last of the youngsters they hatched out in previous seasons, even though it can fend for itself quite well if they are not present to meet its demands.  Yet they are also vigorously guarding their nesting tree against future need.  In the lake, and the stream that runs down from it, the Perch are fat with roe - and, though we are yet to feel winter's blast, already all the signs of the coming spring and summer are visible to anyone who walks slowly through our valley and over our mountain.

Yet things are not quite as they should be - one sign of spring in my part of the mountains is the golden dusting of pollen, from the Radiata Pines, that drifts down into the cracks in the footpaths, and filters the light coming through any windscreen left in the open.  It is autumn, but our Pinus gold dust is present again, if in smaller quantities than the spring flowering produces. The Elderberry has flowered again, too, and the Jonquills are appearing around the garden.

The seasons in Australia are never quite as predictable as they are in many parts of the world, but I am not sure what to make of this.  I can watch this ebb and flow of seasonal life, and work it into the stories I tell - to myself and to the world.  Time will tell how pertinent those stories are.