Some falls the colors in Bethesda are drab, going from green to brown, it seems, and cheating us of the flaming reds and oranges for which Northern New England is famous. Not this year. For whatever reason, the colors even in this sleepy little Southern town have been spectacular.
Along with the leaves, the thing I enjoy most is just sitting on the deck and watching the Maple, Oak and Beech leaves drifting down, sometimes in panicked rushes before a sudden gust of wind, other times just lettting go when Nature’s clock winds down, making their way slowly earthward to join their comrades on the compost heap.
The leaf blowers I could do without. A pox on he who first realized the darker potential of the snow blower.
Let me leave you with this thought:
When I go
I want to go
like the maple seed
Last of my cluster
A final fouette
Of unknown destination