On Sunday I hiked up the gorge downtown to enjoy the fall colors. It was sunny, with no breeze. Beside the bridge, little yellow leaves drifted to the creek below, their changing silhouettes distinct aginst the arch of blue sky outlined by the girders.
I enjoyed the unhurried fall of the leaves, their moment of hanging aloft, without attachment. I counted those seconds of suspension before the leaves fluttered to the ground. As they fell, the leaves, untethered, seemed to breathe out all that had come before--the spring birth, the summer of sailing on the swells of warm breezes, the autumn display of their true colors, their final days of catching the slanting rays of autumn sun and collecting fat raindrops.
As they fell to the creek and were caught by the current, they hung suspended on the water, carried along by the rightness of what--or whatever--was to come.
I hope you are enjoying your fall, this brief bridge between summer and winter.