Although the forests are always a welcome escape from day-to-day life, August is never a favorite time of year for me. The newness of spring and early summer has passed, and it has aged beneath heat and lack of rain to become a dying landscape. The electric green that infused every part of the forest has faded to a patchwork of brown and tired green. The flowers that carpeted the floor with stunning colors and filled the forest with their tantalizing aroma, are done with their kaleidoscopic glory, but their skeletal remains cling to withered stalks and rattle in the breeze, as they try to gamely hang on. The trails alternate between being hard baked and incredibly dusty. Every footfall creates a small cloud of dust that clings to my ankles and legs and turns beautiful white dog feet to a dull, flat grey. It is largely silent in the forest as well, birds that filled the forest with stunning song, full of hope and love, have fledged their young and are busy teaching them the ropes, and prepping for migration.
The dryness is enervating and the heat makes walking an effort. The dogs tire quickly, and forego their normally carefree play, to prevent over-heating and to save their energy. The creeks we cross are always very welcoming, an oasis of greenery and life. The dogs always surge forward as one, to jump in the still frigid water, paddle around, lie down or just stand soaking in the water and letting it soothe away the hot day. These stops along the way always re-energize them and they blast out of the water invigorated and turbo-charged, chasing and wrestling one another as they become puppies again for a short time.
All around hints of fall intrude. Weary shrubs fight death with hues of red that hint of the colorful glory of fall. Large rocks lay upturned by dexterous bear paws, who have upended the secret lairs of insects, unwittingly becoming a meal; fuel for many a cold day to come. Early in the day a chill rides the upslope winds warning the forest denizens that complacency in the heat will leave them struggling when autumn lowers the boom. A hush of anticipation hangs tangibly among the stately trees. It is coming…. Fall. With it, comes the start of hunting season, as hunters spread out among the landscape brining death with them. For those who survive man’s lethal raids, winter will follow and cover the landscape in her icy unforgiving grip and make mere survival a struggle.
I think it is the hush of anticipation that nudges my soul, makes me feel a bit anxious and shadows every step. It’s knowing the animals that will suffer and fall on the killing fields that we force upon them, and the hardships they will face through winter. Knowing the ephemeral, gentle beauty of spring and summer is gone and from here on, only the toughest will survive. That knowledge dodges every step, whispers among the dry vegetation and hangs among the silence in the forest, until itself becomes a drumbeat of time, dodging my every step, marking my passage. It’s coming…
reflectionsfrommontana 
beautifully expressed