It was a quiet night, of course, and now it's All Saint's Day. Whoopee whee! Cloudy and windy, which means the peak-color leaves make mounds in the corners and gutters. Since it's not raining to speak of, the mounds look like piles of pretty-colored stones waiting to be used for jewelry. The sumac leaves are so extraordinarily lovely, long and slim and wildly variegated from yellow-orange-apricot to deep garnet on one leaf!
The oaks are all reddening nicely to stay in the act, and the trash trees like maples and ailanthus are in full wildly colorful change. The eastern redbuds are changing to a bright lemon yellow and the leaves are mostly staying on, to my surprise. Sassafras, those cinnamony smelling exibitionists, are at last fading to brown, but the intense and glorious explosion of Crayola-bright color is hanging on, branch by branch.
And then there's my old nemesis, that damned sweet gum tree with its ankle-spraining, shoe-sticking gumballs from hell. Sixty feet tall and the rotten-souled thing loves nothing better than to heave the stupid, prickly seed casings at me from the top of itself as soon as Stella and I walk out the door. Being a dog, she's a smaller target, so who gets conked with the barbed balls? Puppydaddy, of course. Not to mention the brown stickerballs the damn tree has hidden in leaf-drifts in the driveway, turning my ankles this way and that, but never in any direction that Nature intended.
I still wouldn't trade it for anything.