“Autumn is the hardest season. The leaves are all falling, and they’re falling like
they’re falling in love with the ground.”
― Andrea Gibson
Oh dears~ it’s pouring in the city where I live!
The rain is sobbing like a broken-hearted lover. The relentless pounding of rain drops sends me into a bluesy mood while the chilling dampness seeps deep into my joints. It’s the kind of morning that sends me snuggling under a cashmere blanket with a steaming mug of coffee; no plans to step outside.
Yet, the autumn sky is the softest shade of grey, suggesting the sleek coat of a wee storybook mouse. Juxtaposed against the soft grey expanse are tall, vibrant evergreens that stand guard; their needles of various shades from blueish greys to mossy greens. So much more beautiful in dulled light, the images shadowed by a watery veil. The wind sleeps.
Through the window I watch as the squirrels cavort between the fence post and tumble through the soaked grass. The grey squirrel, the frisky one with the glossy, thick coat pauses and quickly lifts a hazelnut off the ground. The still agile stray manx returns to the yard. He sits patiently under a doorway’s cover, tailless, round ears flattened, eyes fixed on the watery postcard scene. Perturbed and vengeful at the little thieves that steal nibbles from the dish on the back porch. Watching.
Shiny Hunter boots, a vain extravagance, coax from the mudroom,
“Come out! Come out!”
They beckon me outdoors. We step forth wading through puddles, snipping berry branches, the last of the pinkest shrub roses. I pocket some acorns. The boots’ too glossy shine beginning to dull under a filmy layer of rainwater. The soles edged with nature’s decaying spoils. Perfection.
Autumn’s damp and shadowy ending is glorious in any light; today it hints of the impending winter that will surely follow. The purest whites, the softest greys, and the stalwart evergreens still keeping watch. A loyal manx and the promise that after winter will come spring’s warm thaw. Hope.