Overture

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It’s happening. Slowly, of course. Bit by bit. In inches that will become feet before you eyes. It’s fall.

The weather is delicious. Sunny and bright with puffy white clouds and a cool breeze that ruffles the curtains. In the morning, my breath comes out in a cloud along with Juno’s.

There are early show offs. They burst into color and their leaves fall like a thick carpet on the ground and I strongly consider knocking on the door with a rake and asking if they minded if I raked their leaves so I could jump into them. I can conjure the smell and the cool smoothness of each leaf.

The color isn’t full yet. There’s so many trees to go, but when I look at my windows my eyes search for them. The jewel bright colors that are now dotting the neighborhood.

Nothing gold can stay. That’s how the poem goes. And it’s true. In just a few weeks, the branches will be bare and the jewel bright leaves will be mouldering and brown. But, right now? It’s everything.

One Comment

  1. margaret veon says:

    love love love fall!!

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