We've noticed that the hummingbird no longer comes to the feeder hanging on the railing by the dining area window. They've left for warmer climate and more abundant flowers.
We've noticed fewer geese in the marshy areas - and when we do see them, they are getting grouped up into bigger communities readying for the flight south. Although the crickets and frogs still call to us from the darkness, our doors and windows are closed against the chill night air.
We've noticed when walking through the woods that the orange oak, and red maple leaves have fallen to the ground and are mingling there with the browning ferns. The berries are hard and dried, where they can still be found on the juniper trees. The earthy smells from the crushed leaves waft up to our faces as we tromp through the woods. Fields of blue stemmed goldenrod - sway in the meadows, drying in the last warm rays of the area's fall sunshine.
We've noticed the husks of the shagged bark hickory nuts split open on the trail, harvested and stored by the numerous chipmunks.
We've noticed how the sun keeps moving further to the south as it sets, red, purple, and with an almost audible hiss as it sizzles and sinks into the river's water beyond the deck railing.
We've taken a leisurely two weeks to canoe, kayak, hike, explore, sail and catch up with my parents. We've explored west from here, east from here, and north into the woodlands and lakes. We dipped into the river's chilling waters, snorkels bubbling, looking for the survivors of the season's fishing.
It's time too for us to head south - and west, back to our warm home in California.
So, with a sad heart, but not wanting to stay, we bid this island chocked outlet of Lake Ontario farewell for another season. We move back into the camper, re-stow our gear in its usual places, restock the refrigerator, fill the water tanks and gather up the maps we'll need for the next leg of our journey.
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