Today the wind’s hollow whistle sounds cold and wintry. The pleasant chatter of overhead leaves has given way to the stale clatter of ashen branches, exposed and undone. A raspy ruckus rises from the field as the vast stand of sun-crisped corn stalks rubs shoulders. A menagerie of dry leaves skips and skids down the black-topped road, scuffing and scraping on their way to nowhere in particular.
Today is another atypically toasty day. A warm wind whisks away the typical fall chill. I throw my laptop and my Bible in the car and head for my favorite hideaway. Last time I was here, watching crayfish, a high summer sun baked the lichen-covered outcroppings and glinted off the deep green leaves. The wind spoke soothing words of long summer days to come. Today the sun rides low in the southern sky. Crisping leaves tell the story of impending cold, but their showy colors soften the blow. Continue reading Peak Colors