"How beautifully leaves grow old. How full of light and color are their last days."
— John Burroughs
Saturday was one of those tranquil autumn days that seem to have loitered on purpose, unwilling to yield to the gray procession of November. Sue and I went again to the Wisconsin River near Sauk, drawn by a wish to see how the tiger beetles were abiding these shortening days. We love this place. Only a week past, at the Arena landing, we had come upon two Hairy-necked Tiger Beetles — the latest I have ever known them in southern Wisconsin.
The river still lay low in its bed, revealing long reaches of tawny sand and the bleached limbs of driftwood where the water once ran deep. In the bordering trees, dozens upon dozens of Yellow-rumped Warblers busied themselves among the leaves, intent upon the invisible harvest of small winged insects. The afternoon light was of that tempered gold peculiar to October, and the whole day moved with such serene leisure that it seemed the year itself had paused to take a long, contented breath.
There were, perhaps, three or four Bronzed Tiger Beetles still abroad on the sand, coursing lightly over the beach in search of food.
Slowly, their shadows grew longer with the sinking sun ...
My last tiger beetle of the season? We'll see!
An Eastern Comma in terrific light!
And a single Dainty Sulphur fluttered low over the sand — a small, lemon-colored wanderer from the South, pausing here on its northward journey's edge. It's a migratory species in Wisconsin.
Here's a Familiar Bluet ...
It was the only damselfly observed during this outing—alas, insecting 2025 draws to a close.
A few Map Turtles basked upon an old log settled into the riverbed, its upper curve just breaking the surface. The water moved softly around it, lifting bits of sun and sky into shifting patterns along their shells. They belonged wholly to the quiet — the log, the turtles, the river — each resting in its place as though the day itself had paused to watch.
The bright restlessness of summer has gone. The birds are moving south, and the riverbank feels emptier for their passing. Only a few small lives still stir in the mild October sun, as if unwilling to admit the season's end.
All images © 2025 Mike McDowell