Last day of summer

Show of hands. Who remembers the giant puffballs?

Well...



This is the kind of stuff that happens when summer dribbles along to its end.

Some 4,500 miles to the northeast, summer is winding down in Herefordshire as well.









Meanwhile, back on the ranch...

Why did the wooly bear cross the road?



To celebrate the end of summer I completely stole several hours from my real job. My whining justification is "... I didna feel so gooood!"

Yesterday I was utter crap, following a weekend of nearly utter crap. This morning? Utter crap. Which micturated me off. So, I opted for a little light road work. No hardcore prairie hiking, just a gentle stroll along the highways and byways as a means to get the blood flowing.

It worked. I didn't intend to go 10 miles, but it felt good, and I was already stealing the time, so WTH, I did. I paused to take a few snapshots to mark the day and the seasonal transition.

Heavy ears drooping toward the ground.

Golden.

Newly sprouted winter wheat.

Next year's bread.

This row marker, hidden in the roadside grass, has shattered more than one NDOR mower.

Sunflowers fading to black, while across the road, treasure.

Alvin Parker, National Soaring Champion.

He landed this Sisu 1A at KIBM on July 31, 1964. Some of you have looked at this aircraft and unknowingly connected with the little grass airstrip I'm looking at right now.

Getting raggedy...

Oh, so raggedy.

Brome and yucca glow in dawn's early light. Only one will survive the winter.

When the first humanarian lands on Mars, there will be beer bottles in the canals.

And probably buried cable.

Sleepy country grain elevator, busy freight train.

"Alongside wild pisselm tree, the village smithy leans."

The church my maternal grandma's family was banned from attending. Their crime? Not being able to pay the "dirty rooshin" fee.

Once (a loooong time ago) the nicest home in Kimball.

And now I'm creaky and sore but not a bit crap. Farewell summer, I hardly knew ye. Bring on the next season.

“Live each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influences of each.” 
-- Henry David Thoreau