A visit to the oak tree

Sunset from beneath Old Oak

I measure each season by its sounds.
The barred owls calling on a frozen, late winter's night--the hardest is behind us, ...soon spring.
The first few, brave, hardy peepers of an early evening--heralds of the warming days and thawing earth.
The birdsong on a fresh, crisp morning--waking us to the frenzy of new life,...so much ahead.
The sharp rasp of a tree frog on a humid afternoon--the woods are thick with leaves and air, heavy.
The cicadas ringing high in the branches above--the peak of summer swelter is here.
Tonight the katydids sing--this is the final act of summer.

I always associate the sounds of the katydids with the last evenings of summer. It was their singing I'd hear, sitting on the porch swing, talking with my girls, recapping our summer's adventures as they prepared to start the next school year.
Summer was our "family time"--and I hated to see it pass as quickly as it always did.

Theirs is the song of a summer's end.