One of the routes I take to the Toll Road is a main county road, the Meridian, if you will. One part of it is hilly (hard to find in Indiana), and wooded (still—developers have not yet taken it over). It is one of two places I most love to drive through this time of year. Many of the leaves have fallen, I would guess most. And yet, there are still enough leaves clinging to branches like children not quite ready to be dropped at Kindergarten. Enough leaves, but bare enough to allow long-hidden branches, limbs and trunks to be seen as they have not been seen since early spring. They’ve dropped their cover and, bit by bit, the brown will outstretch the gold until the brown, itself, silvers and grays in the winter cold.
But now, right now, today, the brown is deep and revels in being seen, as the gold glitters still in the sparkly morning light, with a mist rising up from the ground to meet it.
Benjamin Franklin is quoted as saying that Beer is proof God loves us and wants us to be happy. I would add that so is a hilly patch of forest by a road in late Autumn.