It seems that fall this year will persist until the official first day of winter. I can’t recall a year when mild temperatures held on this long since I’ve been here. Nor do I recall a fall during which I could let the fire go out in the middle of the day. Despite its normal more distant position, the sun continues to warm as it passes through windows and peers around bare tree branches.

The ground hasn’t frozen yet, nor has it even hardened, causing some perennials to wonder, I’m sure, what’s going on. Is it time to go to sleep yet, or do we have a while longer before the deep cold claims us for another winter? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear certain plants are trying to make a comeback even now, and those that aren’t are at least still looking mighty green, rendering my flower beds less bleak-looking than they normally are this time of year.

I looked out my back bedroom window one early morning last week, and not 20 feet away, a pileated woodpecker flew to the dead maple whose top fell over during the 2008 ice storm. It made its way up what’s left of the trunk to the large hole that another of its kin drilled out last year. But finding nothing interesting there, it flew away. Never have I been this close to that magnificent bird, the second largest of its species, the largest being the nearly-extinct ivory-billed, native to Asia, that’s a few inches longer than its North American cousin.

Later that day, a raven flew over me as I stepped out onto the back porch, and I watched until it disappeared from sight. Not long after that, a single wild turkey flew past and up into a tall pine where it sat awhile, most likely waiting for some danger to pass before it resumed its solitary journey or rejoined its flock. It was definitely a day for large bird sightings.

The blue spruce that I brought with me here 12 years ago is now more than five feet tall, not tall by tree standards, but it’s a slow-growing species that takes years to reach its full height. I no longer do much indoor Christmas decorating, but that little tree seemed to be crying for something in the way of ornamentation. A bit of searching and an hour or so later, there it stands, sporting bright red felt ribbon bows and shiny red glass ornaments, providing a vibrant splash of color against an otherwise uninteresting background. Even without lights, the ornaments seem to glow, providing a perfect focal point that’s visible from where I sit to read or write.

It’s the rare time of year when nature isn’t capable of providing her own ornamentation, be it in the form of flower, leaf, fruit or colorful bird, but at no time would I attempt to upstage her. Even in the late fall, when most trees are bare and the ground is littered with dead leaves, she manages to gild the needles of pines and hemlocks and to paint the late afternoon sky in hues that leave me breathless. And on nights when the moon is full, there is nothing to compare with the silver glow splashed across rocks and tree trunks.

That small blue spruce would still be bare had I not intervened, but now it stands proudly, making its own humble Christmas statement to all who might notice it. I like to think that nature took a short break from her own creative efforts and allowed me my contribution to the drab pre-winter landscape.

I have no illusions there, though. For with the first winter storm, she will return to decorate the blue spruce and all the other trees around it as only she can. And again, I will stand back to gaze upon the scene in awe and wonder at how what appears at first glance to be nothing more than a random act is capable of such perfection.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Lyman, can be reached via e-mail at rlovejoy84253@roadrunner.com.