Fall Down
The trees are singing one last song of praise to their Maker. The wind lets loose leaf confetti and it blows past the window as we drive down into the valley. The sun is allowed into more of the woods and it's not as dark here as it is in the summer. The sky is a blue only seen in the fall. Crickets sing all day because they know the time is short. Gather in the last of the garden fruits and herbs before the first frost. Still plenty of green on the trees, but soon the balance will tip in favor of reds and yellows and purples. It'a all so beautiful and sharp and fleeting. I know it's coming- the dark, the grey, the cold, the slow descent into a death-like world. It envelopes me every year, and I feel it coming on slowly, like old age. I want to see the beauty, to enjoy the colors and crisp air, to breathe it all in and bask. But I can't because I know it's all a prelude. A prelude to colorless, odorless, darkness. And I just can't shake the feeling. I know...