Annual Rites of Passage

Colorful autumn leaves offer us eye candy now.

Sugar maple trees are warm and beautiful.  Childhood

memories of many-hued leaves our Dad raked into

piles in Sturbridge.  Shrieking, we jumped into the

leaf piles.  It’s what kids do! As I take in all

the colors, the outdoors beckons.  After another

frost, I wanted some photos of our gardens before

winter’s white blanket covers everything.

Yesterday the collards were ready to harvest.

My deceased librarian colleague informed me

that collards taste their finest after the first

frost.  Noting that no more apples were on

the lawn, I spied two young bushy tails climbing

one tree to pluck apples off a branch.  The winds

will help the remaining ones fall for greedy paws

to hold for the feast.  Some of our birds greet

me in song.  They shelter in our bird houses

to get protection from Nature’s elements.

Crisp air.  Warm colors.  Sights and sounds of

fall: raking leaves, final mowing of lawns.

The annual rites of passage of our lovely

four seasons in Upstate New York.  I do

not adhere to the camp of those who

complain of how cold the weather is.

No, I smile to myself as I fondly recall

my Massachusetts childhood:  the leaves at

the Old Sturbridge Village. Snowsuits.

Blueberry picking with empty pails

but blue mouths from eating the

blueberries the best way:  by the

handful directly off the bush.  So tasty.

Bundle up now and get rosy cheeks.