by Nona Estrin
The dreamy sounds of crickets, the bumble bees noisily visiting a tangle of Japanese anemones, put me into a bit of a trance. Until, whoosh, a merlin cuts through the air, doves scatter, then silence, before the crickets start up again. Hawks are on the move! It’s that in-between season, defying label, but alternating from hot to cool, from summer to fall and back.
