I watched a yellow blizzard of black walnut leaves swirl to the ground the other day. The swallows have already left. The sun peers in my windows in the morning and the evening, instead of sailing high over the roof. But most of all, this is the season of leaves. This is when they dance. This is their show time. Even the neon green of early spring growth can’t compete with the whirling, twirling crashing out of leaves finally set free.
Such an ephemeral delight, at a time when the world's dance seems to be all about movement and power.