WHAT'S BEST ABOUT FALL

This morning, I looked out the kitchen window and the holly berries had turned pink.  By December they will be a bright red weight on the boughs. The robins are awaiting their winter feast, the way we wait for the Thanksgiving turkey to brown. Yesterday, honestly, they were hard green and nearly invisible amongst the prickly leaves. It happened overnight.

What's best about Fall is that every day it changes.  Take the dogwoods for example.  In Spring they bloom with small yellow flowers encircled by pink or white bracts that look like petals.  Then in summer nothing much happens.  The dogwood stays green and survives the heat.  But now, every day the leaves reach a deeper shade of red.  Soon, the branches will be bare and reveal their deeply grooved bark. 

The nandina too have been turning persimmon with undertones of honeydew. They keep their feathery leaves all year if we escape a freeze, but are pruned by our hungry deer as grasses brown out for winter.  Right now, they are bent with heavy clusters of pale red berries on their cane-like stems. Some need propping up.  They will keep these berries all winter, probably because of the small amounts of cyanide in each orb.  

Last week we couldn't spot the white tails unless they were grazing in the meadow.  But this morning, with less foliage, they were visible meandering from meadow to deep woods past our windows.  Two were nuzzling while they ate the verbena next to the house.  They're growing their dark winter coats.  

And of course, the leaves. We're not making a fall trip.  There's enough going on right here.  And my husband still on crutches, down to one.

The other day I saw the most amazing sight. Not specifically related to the season, I guess, but a box turtle was on its back near my drive as I pulled in.  Nudged up against its side was another box turtle, wedged as it were, trying to help its buddy turn over. We've all seen water turtles piled on a rock together for warmth, but this I hadn't seen--two friends, alone in our meadow, struggling to right the one in trouble.  I got out and turned it over and off they plodded. 

What a season, what a world.  Having passed my big birthday, that I wrote about, I am enjoying everything. Keats called it a "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness."  Shorter days and longer nights. Let's love it all.           With love, Nina Naomi