Gone. Almost all the brilliantly hued leaves have fallen from their mother trees. Many lie strewn across vast areas of lawns or wooded areas. Some have been captured and await their recyled fates in big black plastic bags.
Still. A few stragglers. Hangers on, so to speak. They twirl in the wind as if fastened with invisible super glue or maximum strength non-waxed dental floss to the branches. Bound to their mothers and begging to stay for just a while longer.
The winds have been fierce, off and on. My chimes playing musical notes occasionally in the night.
My grandkiddos assert their readiness for snow already. Riding their longboards on the still naked asphalt streets right up until the first measurable snow fall. Then they will be onto, literally, their snowboards. Racing down hills, leaving patterns on the snowy hills from where they swooshed and turned. Tricks attempted, accomplished or tried again.
But for now, I spy with my little dark brown eye something orange in color and small in size fluttering against a backdrop of brown, silver and black tree trunks.