“October is the month of painted leaves.” -Henry David Thoreau
Sun streaming through the gold and red leaves of the oaks and maples, bright and warm against the brilliant blue of the sky.
Every leaf a palette splash, colors vibrant in the light and dancing in the wind, occasionally breaking away and fluttering like a lazy butterfly too sleepy to flap and so floating downward to the still green grass, motionless wings spread across the lawns.
The slight smell of woodsmoke tinging the nose, a hint of the cooler weather creeping in at night and lingering longer in the morning. Cooler air requiring long sleeves while the air feels slightly manic, an attempt to deny the shortening of days with a frenzied burst of beauty and activity, knowing the darkness proceeds from the Fall.