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Ahead of us, it was just starting: October’s pizzazz like the carnival barker, with top hat and swinging a gold cane.

The asphalt path, still moist from yesterday’s rains and imprinted by a pastiche of saffron and rusts, was its first welcome. More came in quick succession: mimosas and maples still clinging to their dried and torn leaves, resembling half-opened parasols; sun-warmed winds teasing tendrils of vines curlicued around plank fences; islands of leafy shade inviting the next footfall; and within a large evergreen, twittering sparrows sounding like jokesters filled with stories.

Another season, outstanding for its brilliance-to-faded beauty is upon us. Even its eventual stripping has its own message, for senses attuned to it. Within each revelation comes wisdom, trust in the Changer, and ultimate meaning.

All the more to intentionally focus upon each day’s pizzazz and listen for the joy. It’s there.

Sugar maple tree flames above me.

Trickster winds nudge single leaf from its mooring.

Like a gymnast, it sworls, down, down, down.

Then sticks to the glistening pavement.

Hairy veins, now empty of nutrients.

Musk steams from subsoil.

Stillness gawks.

 

Yet decay rejuvenates the cycle.

Spring will whisper under dove-gray skies.

 

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