If you鈥檙e a student of meteorology or an avid reader of The Farmer鈥檚 Almanac, you are no doubt aware that we have just experienced the autumnal equinox. You don鈥檛 have to be a neighbour of Stonehenge to see that, for a few days, the hours of darkness and sunlight are equal in length.  To be more direct, the season has changed, it is now fall.

The challenge this year is that it doesn鈥檛 seem like fall. The change from summer to autumn in the Lower Mainland is the most dramatic of seasonal transitions. The other season changes are marked only by the change in temperature of the rain water.

This year I鈥檓 not ready for fall to arrive. I鈥檓 enjoying walking around in shorts and T-shirts and eating meals on the deck or picnic table. Normally we have dragged out  sweaters and jeans, polished the boots and pulled hoodies and jackets from the back of the closet.

The situation is somewhat like waiting for a flight arrival at the airport. We keep checking the time and date, looking out the window and wondering how much longer the delay will be.

The sounds and smells of fall are very distinct and we usually sense the change coming, preceded by a cool breeze or an occasional downpour. But this year, the air conditioning is still on and the sunglasses are still handy. Besides, I don鈥檛 hear anyone complaining about the delayed arrival.

But I鈥檝e decided to take a new position. I鈥檓 not waiting, watching or listening any longer. I鈥檒l take all the sun that nature is prepared to deliver. At least that鈥檚 what McGregor says.

I鈥檓 Not Listening

Wind chimes are tinkling softly today,

With a message in that gentle ring;

I don鈥檛 want to hear

About storms on the way

Or the cold dreary days

They will bring.

Brown leaves try to catch my attention,

Calling without making a sound;

I don鈥檛 want to hear

About fallen branches

Or raking leaves

That cover my ground.

Canada geese are V-lining south,

Warning with whispering wings;

I don鈥檛 want to hear

About oncoming seasons,

I know they鈥檙e not gaggling

About spring.

The poet is writing

About autumn again,

Searching for rust-coloured words;

I don鈥檛 want to read about

Pumpkins or frost,

Changing trees, or south flying birds.

The season will change

If I listen or not,

Let me enjoy one last fall afternoon;

Lately it seems, seasons are shorter,

And they鈥檙e coming and going

Too soon!