The breeze teases and whips the leaves into a frenzied fall of grace!
Mother Earth’s great bosom is afire with torches of crimson, scarlet, burnt umber, and gold.
The fir needles rust on branches in preparation for the lean months of lessening sunshine.
I notice what is not needed for their winter coat is cast-off to form a soft fragrant carpet below.
Fir’s are nature’s very own skirted festive trees!
It is autumn!
Squirrelling away nuts and seeds, little creatures hoard their tasty bounty in random places.
The water smokes in the morning hush, cooling its summer ardour; soon to become a slick frozen mirror of solitude.
In this heady assault to the senses, the call of birds pierce the deathly quiet in migration to open waters.
Surrender is rich in scent and ripe like the bright apples in bushels at the marketplace.
Ah this place, this fragrant space in my heart; my home is Autumn.