Fall evolves in artful expressions of exuberance and decline. Ferns yellow, then descend like the end of a prayer or the closing of a quiet song.
Light sharpens like a knife turned on its edge, delivering us from months of generous luminosity into a certain clarity that slices through diminishing foliage and silhouettes limb and bough.
Light gives us less of itself, rousing us later in the morning and sending us indoors earlier. We pause in our preparations, watching for moments of stillness against which to measure the sweep of change.
Sit for a spell among the collapsing grasses; listen for the titter of fluttering leaves; slow your step for a lingering glance at the season’s advance.