Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SATURDAY, September 26, 1993                   TAG: 9309240045
SECTION: CURRENT                    PAGE: NRV-2   EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY 
SOURCE: STEVE KARK
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

HINTS OF FALL COME SLOWLY TO THE HOLLOW

Temperatures are a little cooler, too. The days aren't quite as sticky as they were a while back, though sometimes fog drifts up the valley like it does in the middle of summer. Rain is just as wet.

Hummingbirds are still at the feeders. A few butterflies and bumblebees poke around the yard, though the mimosa gave up its fragrant blossoms weeks ago. There are new spider webs each morning, gleaming with dew in the morning sun.

Flowers remain in some of the flower beds; the survivors rise above their dried and wilted companions.

When the sun goes down, the evenings are cool enough to justify spreading the down quilt on the bed. The window remains open, as this is my favorite time of year for sleeping.

Brown bats still make their way up the hollow just after dark. I spotted three the other night. They were fatter than usual, though.

Katydids call from the dark woods. An old-timer told me that when they stop singing, winter is a month and a half away. I'll be listening.

On the same note, the woolly caterpillars are out. The same man told me that their black and brown bands will predict the severity of the coming winter, though I have forgotten how to read the signs.

Anyway, the box turtles are still out, and they gobble these little fortune cookies before I've had a chance to read them. If the caterpillars are so good at predicting the future, why can't they save themselves? Why can't they see the future, when it moves as slowly as a turtle?

When I walked down to get the mail earlier this week, I encountered hundreds of starlings in the trees on either side of the driveway. They chattered loudly above - discussing road food, I should imagine - and when they moved, they moved together, never pausing in their criticism of the local bill of fare.

They were gone by evening.

The cats are having a hard time finding moles to torture. Whether this is because they've killed them all, or because the moles, recognizing defeat, have settled in for the winter, I can't say.

Our house is surrounded by trees, so the leaves are my most obvious sign. They're brittle and seem to hang more lightly on the branches. The smallest of breezes is enough to stir them. And when stirred, they rustle at a higher pitch than they did just one month ago.

They've just begun to change color, too, though this isn't obvious at first glance. They look more faded than anything else. Only the leaves of one tree, the staghorn sumac at the edge of the yard, have changed color completely. Its bright red leaves already stand out against a faded background.

Unless you look closely, it would be hard to tell that fall has come to Rye Hollow. But the signs are there.

They sneak in softly on little feet, like the mice in the kitchen.

Steve Kark is an instructor at Virginia Tech and a correspondent for the Roanoke Times & World-News. He writes from his home in scenic Rye Hollow, in a remote part of Giles County south of Pearisburg.