in a shower of falling leaves
Each day, as I walk to work, school or the library (all three find themselves within a block of each other…what providence!), I am greeted more and more by the most magical part of fall.
As I walk quietly through the early morning light, often with a little local folk tuned softly on my iPod, I look up to see tiny, golden leaves fluttering down all around me, like a perfect rain storm of autumn foliage. The leaves crunch underfoot and I take extra care to walk through the biggest piles I see, just because I like how they tickle my toes. (Did I mention it’s still 75 degrees here? Sheesh, Michigan.)
Every time this happens, I nearly want to cry, it’s so lovely. Looking up to a perfect canopy of intense golds and reds and oranges, it’s like being in a snowglobe. The leaves fall thickly and stick to my hair, brushing my nose and cheeks, and I stick out my arms and lean my face back, celebrating in the graceful magic of that one perfect moment, that one exactly right gust of wind.
I went apple-picking with my family yesterday and in between snapping tons of photos of my cute-as-a-field-mouse niece, I found myself wandering off, staring at the reds of apples fallen in the orchard and brushing my fingers across the stiff cornstalks and grasses, beginning their slow death as winter approaches.
As my personal hommage to these moments, I am baking pumpkin scones to take in for my co-workers tomorrow. If I’m feeling saucy, an apple pie might make its way in there, too. For now, though, I have a potato and mushroom gratin in the oven, singing my name.
Oh, autumn, how I love you so very much.