Relative Something

Leaves were falling, just like embers

In colors red and gold, they set us on fire

Killing the Blues by Rowland Salley

I went after a little more late-season lawn mowing yesterday afternoon and it turned our backyard striped.

That is what happens when you mow over the leaves instead of raking them up first.

The leaves have been leaving the trees in an increasing amount with each passing day.

It creates a carpet of leaves beneath the trees that produce one of my favorite forest looks.

Cyndie’s prized “door table” under the trees becomes a mystical decoration in a picturesque nook where romping squirrels make so much noise it sounds like a deer must be running through.

Falling leaves. You know what that means?

Falling flakes won’t likely be very far behind.

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