I look out my kitchen windows and see yellow and brown in the woods that were green.
If you look closely, you can see a chair at the bottom of the hill, on a small overlook above the creek. That’s where I head with my camera, book, bottle of water, and little white dog.
To avoid the steep hill in the yard, we take the long way, around the front of the house and down the side yard past the woods where I see red berries growing, always a reminder of fall.
I also see little white flowers growing along the edge, as well as little purple ones whose photo went the way that many photos of the amateur do. Not sure where. Perhaps accidentally in the trash. Or permanently deleted. It’s a mystery.
Our feet crunch through the fallen large brown sycamore leaves that cover the ground at the base of the hill.
Our crunching noise is accompanied by the rustling sound the squirrels make in the fallen leaves as they search for food. At first I am startled by the noise of the squirrels, it is much louder than you might imagine for a small agile animal.
Through the leaves of a low branch, I can see the old bench we replaced with our chairs. It sits abandoned in an alcove of the woods.
I look up through the nearly bare tree limbs to the bright blue autumn sky above.
I look down the dry creek bed now covered with the fallen sycamore leaves. Down here by the creek the birds keep a chorus going. I don’t recognize the songs. It is something I hope to learn.
A small puddle of water reflects a silver light from the sun.
I sit and open my book while Arthur explores the area, like the squirrels, making much more noise in the fallen leaves than you might imagine for a small agile animal.