This is a magical time. I’m experiencing it for the first time. Today is September 22, 2025.
Just yesterday, a sunny, warm summer day, we were enjoying the continuation of the Canadian summer. It was 25 degrees, the air was lightly dusty and filled with the scent of wilted leaves, parched soil, and earth and asphalt cracked by the heat.
We all waited and prayed for rain, which, according to the weather forecast, was supposed to come, but somehow passed us by, and I mentally envied the places where it happened.
Nature was waiting for moisture, calm. The trees were waiting for the signal to shed their leaves and bare their leaves before winter arrived. And today, after a night of rain with thunderstorms and lightning, that transition and that period we had been waiting for so long have arrived.
And I celebrate it with pleasure.
I don’t know what another person feels at this time, but I began to see these changes. Although, unfortunately, my eyesight is very poor. Sensations and perceptions are added, mixed with knowledge gained from literature and sources.
For example, spiders have become active and have begun spinning webs wherever possible. Just now, standing in the kitchen, I noticed a small fly caught in a spider’s web, and he was actively wrapping it around her. It was still resisting, but he pricked it with his proboscis; it convulsively shuddered, and he quickly wrapped it in web. There were some bugs nearby, already in a cocoon. I remembered that this fly was flying around yesterday, hitting the kitchen window. I noticed it was small and not as strong as the previous ones. Apparently new, young. It hadn’t gained strength yet. And today she’s already in the web, shuddering, awaiting the final dose of poison.
I took the tip of a knife and broke the web. The spider ran away. I placed the fly on the paper. What can I say? She’s moving, but her wings and legs are obediently folded alongside her body. I carried her out into the yard, where it’s still warm.
Will she survive? I laid her on the grass. Soon after the rain, there will be sunshine. Who knows? But I’ve broken some cycle again. She should die, no, I intervened, freed her—let her live.
The air after the rain is very fresh and pleasant.
The trees have shed the dust that had settled on them over the past few months.
We had to water them to maintain moisture in the soil. But many things have reacted to the changing weather. For example, the raspberries, which love moisture, have dried out considerably. They haven’t produced their second crop, as usual. The growth of many trees and flowers, which usually have a beautiful, lush appearance by autumn, has unfortunately stopped.
But this year the tomatoes have flourished and produced an endless harvest.
The rain beats pleasantly on the glass, leaving a funny, blurry pattern on it.
The birds have fallen silent. You can’t hear them as you usually do in the early morning on summer days. Besides the spiders, the squirrels in the garden have become more active—they’ve dug up all the bones and roots they like from the pots and brought me half-eaten nuts in return. They sit in the tall trees nearby, and you can hear them gnawing, gnawing, gnawing. It’s some kind of animal instinct—to gnaw on as much as possible before the cold weather sets in.
Establishing neighborly relationships with the squirrels, I feed them, leaving them apples and bringing them fragrant nuts. There’s a section for them in the bird feeder, too. They love corn. But I’ve stopped giving them food with added corn so as not to attract mice. I also agreed with the mice not to venture onto our property; stay with the mean neighbor. There’s no honey or food waiting for you there. We’ve cleaned everything out and sealed the cracks. They’ve stopped coming, but sometimes they still sneak in to collect something—these are field mice, which feed on roots, plants, and grain. It’s impossible to get rid of them completely, but I try to keep them out of our area. I can’t imagine how people, like farmers, live near forests or in villages.
We had a wild bunny last year. I even bragged that finally, a hare had made its way onto our street, amid the noise and cars, among tolerant, kind neighbors. Don’t be surprised, Canadians even feed this animal, which digs burrows and lives, most often in park areas along the lakeshore. I admired such people. Last year, we got one too. But apparently, not everyone liked it. There are Chinese and Vietnamese, a Serbian woman, Canadians, and Italians around. Some didn’t like it. I never saw it again.
But the skunk comes. Its scent is unmistakable. The trees are large, so it comes at night. It climbs the fence and sits there. It waits until everyone falls asleep and, apparently, finds some food. I know that these animals also prefer to live near the lake. They feed and love fish. Perhaps one of the neighbors, based on their diet, attracted this animal. That’s the kind of wildlife we have around here. This is Toronto, a country tolerant of animals. I’ve noticed that with the onset of autumn, I feel more inclined to describe and share my observations with you.
Drawing is becoming difficult; my eyes aren’t the same. My vision has worsened. But there’s no despair, although my mood has been dulled by this. I have to switch to a different mode, readjust, and help myself find something beautiful and pleasant in what’s happening within me over the years.
Today, I’m celebrating the arrival of the velvety, colorful season in Ontario.
It’s about to get beautiful, and this celebration of vibrant foliage on the trees will last until the frost and the first snow.
And they’re already very close.
Well, let’s welcome them.