It is the dry season right now - between summer and fall, a door hinge, a time between. Undergrowth crackles and crunches, making a field mouse sound like a herd of elk. The birds are mostly silent in the mornings - a very occasional call from a flicker, once in a while the last lone meadowlark. Swallows and bluebirds flocked and left almost a month ago now. The tiny spring peeper frogs are living in my flower pots (which mostly have chives and mint instead of flowers but do get regular water). Yellowjackets and hornets are terribly aggressive in this too dry too hot September, and swarm anything with sugar, salt, or a drop of moisture. Smoke hazes the morning and colors the setting sun an unsettling shade of orange as wildfires small and large burn here and across Oregon and Idaho.
It is a time of change, of transformation. I wait for rain, think of rain, dream of rain. I wait.

- Danae Yurgel
writing from the breaks between the Minam and Grande Ronde Rivers