It's an early fall here. It's been dark and overcast, damp and chilly.
We have two large maple trees in the back yard both of them surely over 100 years old, and one of the things that I love to do is watch the wind catch the trees and the leaves fall in a colorful swirl. It really is beautiful to see.
I've been watching this for a couple weeks now, and it never fails to make me stop and smile a little, to watch this blizzard of leaves from these trees.
Except that those leaves eventually hit the ground, and they swirl no more. They blanket the yard and something needs to be done. We cannot burn leaves in the city, so we've spent the day raking, and we have a pile of leaves the length of our house, probably three feet high, maybe 5 feet in depth that the city will come along and suck up this week, hauling them to be mulched.
I pulled 30 solar lights, stuck pieces of cardboard between the contact and the battery so that they can be stored and pulled out again this spring. I've washed them all, remembering how pleased we were when we first put them out last spring, how we sat watching them in the dark. I put them away so that they are ready to take our breath away next spring.
I'll pull the big urns from the portico into the garden room outside the back door underneath the steps to the second floor balcony, and hope that the geraniums make it through the winter. (I've never been able to bring geraniums through the winter, so suggestions would be gratefully appreciated.)
I'll store the hanging baskets inside the basement.
Bring in the sundial. The birdbaths.
For all of its beauty, fall is a little sad too.