Yesterday it got so cold that we started heating in the pens again. Outside, in the real world, though, there is no heating, and life still goes on. In the woods, it is some of the tiniest trees that are turning color first, while the bigger ones are still green and leafy.
Out in the pasture, one of our volunteer persimmon trees is completely bare of leaves, though the orange-colored fruit is hanging on, like bright Halloween decorations.
There is nothing spookier than a bare tree that gives fruit.
You would think that in this kind of weather, both the butterflies and the flowers would all be gone by now. But no, yesterday I saw a lone Great Spangled Fritillary butterfly on a thistle flower. Next to it was a stand of persimmon trees that had not yet lost their leaves.
Some people age rapidly, others take their time. There is always the last flower of the season -- the last butterfly.
Bow does not let the weather keep him from going outside, though he asks to come in more frequently now.
He gets his exercise in the outer pen, then examines himself to see that nothing has gotten injured while he is frenzied and carried away.
Then when he is ready, he comes in and asks for his blanket, which is by now frayed at the edges and has a hole in it. But not to worry, he'll soon be getting a new blanket for Christmas. This one has lasted much longer than its predecessors.
Bow is becoming more mature and more responsible. He is a chimpanzee of good character, and he's in this for the long run, like the last butterfly of the season.