In the mornings, the first hint of autumn creeps through open windows. Dusk comes earlier each evening. Even the bold trade in their t-shirts for long sleeves during the brisk nights. As if attempting to stake its claim on the day, summer warms the lazy afternoons. These days are few, but important.
Like the bottom of a cold beer, I treasure the last few weeks of summer. I enjoy the last breaths of summer and search for the first hints of fall. Torn between bidding farewell to the warm comfort of summer and the excitement of change, I cherish both in the dog days of summer.
The first apples of the autumn.
Lazy drives with meandering destinations.
Hikes above tree line on Mt. Hood.
Rides on dirt roads in a 1952 Willys Jeep.
My dad and brother watching a glider circle the 11,000-foot peak.
The last blueberries of the season.
Wind torn trees on a ridge on Mt. Hood.
The first bites of a ripe pear.
Lazy Sundays in fields.