A magnificent maple tree towers in the expanse of our backyard. Mighty arms stretch skyward, and offer fists full of chestnut, gold, green and tangerine to the clouds. A raging gale blows, leaves pirouette from above and fall to the ground below. A bountiful harvest of hand prints scatter green grass until it is no longer so. Soon we will rake, and we will rake, and still the leaves will fall.
A storm returns. A flame is kindled. A bittersweet glow from the hearth, breathes warmth inside while heavy rain thunders upon the roof. The cleats, socks and shoes that once littered the front porch -- now soaked through -- rest beneath the wood stove. A cornucopia of laces, canvas and leather patiently wait to be warm and dry once more.
Night falls midday upon this sleepy Wednesday afternoon. The rain abates, tall trees sway, the windows rattle, the doors wiggle, a distant siren wails, and I'm reminded how kept and surrounded we are. With a rustle, a shimmy, a twinkle, a glow and then a shift, this day most certainly declares, autumn indeed has returned.