If my camera were not broken I would offer you a little movie, shot from my living room window. The scene is double framed--first by the window, then by the trees. The ground is covered with dark green ivy which is blanketed, mostly, with yellow leaves. The action of the film is falling leaves, drifting, spinning, plummeting. And then maybe a bonus shot of my feet, kicking through piles of browning leaves on the sidewalk. Shuffle, shuffle, crackle, scuff.
Then a still shot of the medical center across the street, the ivy crawling up the bricks, green at the base, then yellow into peach, orange, blushing red, redder, and back again to orange, yellow, green. The sky behind it so blue.
And then a few shots of aging jack-o-lanterns on porch steps. I love their withered mouths and punched eyes and sunken cheeks. How I love a half-rotten pumpkin face.
(But instead I give you this poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins. Maybe I've linked to it before, but it is worth a return.)
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