Past Peak

I give some of my photos to a non-profit sometimes.  They use local pictures on the front of birthday cards they send out to seniors in town.  Mostly, when they need images, I pull things I’ve captured over the course of the year from my files but this time, they asked for specific locations, and early last Saturday I went out, camera in hand.  That trip opened my eyes to fall and the idea that the year is slipping away.  This week, evidence of its waning has arrived in a jumble of tree debris blanketing our yard.  

The orange tree I photographed last week now stands naked, a rumpled skirt piled around its roots.   Everywhere, it’s snowing leaves.  Almost before I caught them,  the vibrant colors of autumn gave way to gold and taupe, except for the oaks that will cling to green until November frosts force them to brown and let go.  Last week there were pops of color everywhere. 

 

 Today, the bare fingered trunks lining the pond down the street mirror water that’s steel grey.

This weekend, we cut back tomato plants and stacked wood.  The boat came out of the water.  Pignuts and acorns ping off the gutters and pop under tires as we exit the driveway.  In the woods, a carpet of yellow needles pads the ground, muffling our footsteps.  As I cut dead flowers in the garden, one lone cricket offered a muted chirp, as if inviting us into the quiet.  Reminding us that nature's quiet time is coming.  Preparing us for the winding down.