Living in Martin's Landing here North of Atlanta, we are surrounded by a wonderful southern deciduous forest. This has been the best part about moving up from Florida last year. Last Fall, the autumn leaves came and went so quickly . . . I believe we had a dramatic windstorm right after the full colors came on, and it stripped most of the leaves off the trees within a couple of days. Still, I had time last year to notice that the maple at the end of our street is a stunning golden color that is gorgeous for a couple of weeks in the Fall. This past weekend, I actually walked down the street just to snap a couple of pictures of it.
Fall is my favorite time of the year. And as is required of our overly sardonic age, I'm now hearing people bemoaning all of the worship of the beauty of this time of year. It's been done too much, you see. Or so I hear from the hipsters. My attitude about that is quite simple . . . bollocks. Fall *is* the best time of the year. The blustery winds, the cooling weather, the falling leaves, smells and tastes of the harvest season, the return of the holidays, the joy of learning a new thing as school starts again, the scudding clouds in front of a gorgeous full moon on a chilly night walk down a street sidewalk strewn with crunchy multi-colored leaves, all smelling of freshness and wet oak.