Ninety percent of the leaves have let go of their mother tree and fallen twisting and turning to the ground below. The last ones hang and dance as if no one is watching. The trees become mystical guardians in the fog. The evergreens become dwarf-like gnomes.
As the light changes the scene glows in burnished bronze hues making the day seem warmer than it is.
My lawn is carpeted in a copper crunch, nature's version of peanut brittle? This is the long-awaited encore of that show called autumn.