A BEGUILING SEASON

Mother Earth bestows on her floor this morning an ample filament of her chosen russets, her leafy scarlets and auburns that annually defy the poet’s best effort. Surely they will suffice ‘til the morrow’s breeze stirs again and adds to the phantasm that is Fall, the apparition that is Autumn.

Indeed, I wondered. How many leaves fell from that tree until it was totally baron ? How many trees were on the farm ? Do kids really need those fractious video games when nature already provides the challenge ?

The leaves, dancing in their descent, effortlessly remind us of carefree childhood days. Should I say, the dubious extent to which my childhood was carefree ? Funny how the dalliance of descending leaves made that illusion easier to believe. The world was a wonderment, after all.

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