Slices of sun

It's impossible to convey the size of the leaves we rustle through on our walks. I could hold some across two hands and they would still be too large.

The ground is littered in spots now with seemingly live leaves which have lost the battle with the wind.

There is a sense of holding on throughout the forest.

One must wonder if the holes are remnants of insect attacks or signs of the devastation of the weather.

Where once they were swaying fields of wildflowers inhabited by insects of every kind, now only bare skeletons sway drily in the wind.

Fallen leaves come to rest among things which have endured the changing weather.

Dry leaves come to rest like alien sculptures.

The wind becomes an artist by chance.

In some instances the work is inspired and in others carries an air of blight.

Beneath the canopy, a dusky light provides dark backdrops.

A leaf holds the impression of one that rested on it for awhile, light creating a perfect outline.

Some places it appears as though a natural holocaust has occurred.

By the lake, the ancient willow tree still dangles its curtained branches over the water.

Looking up from below, the branches cast dark silhouettes against the sunlit cliffs.

The line of the setting sun starkly defined.

And the line between reality and reflection blurred.

Creating the serenity that only fall brings to the lake.

The visibility below the surface disappears as it transitions into the mirror of fall.

Domino emerges from yet another plunge into what must now be frigid water.

We continue our explore in search of signs of life.

But light has overtaken everything and prepares for another sunset program, full of flame and fire.

Painting everything with a wash of color.

And even the smallest things take on center stage.

In the distance, Charm looks back, caught up in her own adventures.

But soon I have to round them all up to begin the trek home as the light drains quickly.

We stop to load up with firewood for the trip home. Accomplished, windblown, content...the dogs a bit reluctant to tear themselves away from what they must consider the most perfect of days, it is home again...