I painted this study at the height of summer, the height of green. Full jungle, as we like to say. But now, the black walnuts have already started to turn. Too soon, we say. Too soon. And yet, the cooler evenings are a relief, our breaths more full at night. The bedroom vibrates with the sound of crickets as a new frog song joins the grumble of the bullfrogs.

When we bought the house, almost two years ago, I will admit we lamented the young walnut grove. Late to leaf, early to fall, they drop the curtain on the green season. Greedily, they claim the earth we said, pushing other species to the edges of their root span.

But as we live, we learn, we see. The full jungle green that envelopes the land? That’s the walnuts. We find the native plants that find harmony within their thrall. We keep the nonnative ornamentals by the roadside anyway. And when autumn falls, early as it may feel, the walnuts clear the stage for the mists that will caress our stone walls, leaving vivid dreams in their wake. This old house fits in the black walnuts. Afterall, a witch lives here.