I shuffle through ankle-deep crisp and crunch. All these leaves are sepia beautiful; they vary only in their shape. Pin oak, cottonwood, ash, and elm. But below this maple, a blanket of gold lays full-circle ‘round her graceful trunk. Twenty-five years I’ve watched her undress and dress, but the fascination never fades.
A few cut-offs from the new construction project mingle with yard tinder for this early morning fire. Match lighted before the break of day, hoping to be done before the winds come with the mid-morning sun. Bunches of low clouds already romping across the sky, south to north.
I rake a rogue torch back into the fire. Too many dry leaves poised to catch and fly.
My own forecast of a long winter compels me to capture video of these gentle flames and soft vertical smoke. I’ll replay it on repeat some dark cold day as I squeeze out pen lines on paper.
A golden lab watches from his deck rail across the way. A wisp of smoke makes me sneeze. He barks. Next sneeze is a fake teaser; he barks again. I belly laugh at our joke. We, and only we two, share this peaceful morn. And we are enough.
I am grateful.
Thank you Father.