Milkweed pods dry and burst open, releasing thousands of fluffy-skirted seeds. Remember them from "Fantasia?" These tiny ballerinas dance in the winds, seeking soil. They stop in some farmer’s soybean field. In the spring, they will sprout and grow into thousands of new milkweeds. The cultivator can’t claim them all. As with butterflies, nobody really owns or controls them. So we pick them, break open their dry cocoons, pick out the silky mass, toss it in the air and blow them into their dainty ballet performance.

Scampering squirrels bury hickory nuts, hazelnuts and walnuts in special squirrel places, for winter food. They will not all be found and dug up, so some will appear as new trees and bushes. Old timers say that a squirrel-planted tree will outgrow one sprouted in a nursery plot every time.

People are on the move, too. Bicyclists, hikers, joggers and couples strolling hand-in-hand soak up sunshine and inhale fresh air following a summer of breathing air-conditioned nothingness.

Cows move from pasture to pasture, munching bright green grass that springs up after autumn’s first rains. They break through barbed wire, if rains are late, because the grass is always greener on the other side. I’ve seen them get down on their knees and stick their heads under barbed wire fence, enduring the sting of the barbs, to gather a few green bites that tempt them from that other side. Their long rough tongues collect fence-row grass in a fan-shaped pattern and then they back up, move a little and stick their heads under again.

Wild geese honk at dusk as they choose a field with a pond nearby - as a good place to spend the night on the way south.

The sparrows are busily moving into the vacant martin houses for the winter. They kick stuff out, take other stuff in and finally are settled in for winter.

The pond comes alive as an occasional cricket or full-grown grasshopper lands on the surface. They begin to struggle toward shore and wham! A bass has an early breakfast or late evening snack.

Frisky fall calves race each other over the pastures to no place in particular. Like kids and birds of a feather, they gang up together. They can’t possibly understand that play is an important factor in their physical development, just as it is for kids.

Hunters walk through thick brush and woodlands to search for signs of wild turkeys. Turkey dung under a tree limb makes them happy, but they won’t share the location with even their best friends. Come opening day, they’ll camouflage their faces and hands, wade through wet grass, stalk, wait, shiver and endlessly repeat the clucking call of the hen.

I’m disturbed from my musings by the honking of wild geese approaching. Honking, honking, honking. The first geese circle lower and lower, scouting our pastures and ponds. "Get the camera," I think.

No, I’ll just file this moment away in my memory.

I like this time of change with things on the move. Here comes that wonderful time of the year - autumn.