One cool evening last week, I cut up a wild cherry tree that had fallen early in the year. I knew exactly the time it fell because I had been sitting by the river after a canoe trip when I heard the crash. It so surprised me that I stood up and searched the hillside for the noise that had disturbed me. Last week, as I once again rested in my chair on the bank of my river, I gazed across the water. The bright yellow petals of the seven-foot high Indian yams were mostly gone and their leaves were turning brown. Behind me the last paw paw splatted the ground with a dull thud. A large fish with a yellow belly escaped the water in pursuit of food and flopped back into the water. For the next few minutes silence flowed down the valley and my attention turned to a large spider above my head repairing its web between two branches. The air was heavy and still while the smells of fall settled into my nostrils. Suddenly, six loud claps in irregular progression startled me.