Yellows, Browns, and Reds

There is no doubt that fall has arrived—raining leaves, chilled mornings, dry air. It takes me longer to prepare for walks as I add layers under my jacket, stuff my hair into a hat, and wrap my neck in a wool scarf. The labs require no additional care; they are energized by the crisp weather. Stella, on the other hand is bundled in what my neighbor calls her “armadillo” outfit.

When the sun rises and filters through the remaining yellow leaves, it casts a sepia tone on the neighborhood. I am comforted by that. I enjoy the crunch of leaves underfoot, yet grimace at the blare of leaf-blowers casting them into streets or onto other people’s lawns.

Tom’s fig trees are stripped of their leaves uncovering a street sign buried beneath the branches. At both dawn and dusk while darkness is present, there is light at the tops of trees. Only, one must look up to see it.

I will keep my pumpkins stacked until after Thanksgiving. I don’t want to rush through this season to get to the next. I admit it can be hard not to plan ahead, or to fix what’s broken, or to discard what’s no longer useful. But, sometimes it is prudent to sit there a while and sip on that pumpkin-caramel latte and simply breathe.

On my walks, I stop to notice the little things, the inconspicuous things. Those things often hidden in plain sight.

Yes, fall has certainly arrived, and most assuredly, will soon be gone. But I will choose to stay a while and smile at that red leaf before it, too, blows away.