There is something almost reverent about fog this time of year. Most of the trees
have lost their color and have assumed their stark, Winter stance -- waiting for Spring to
come before they awaken to new birds nesting in their limbs. But there is still some color.
And I love it when it’s just a little foggy and you can just stand still and watch the leaves
slowly dropping, one by one. With no breeze to hasten the journey to the ground, they
seem to float on the fog and lazily meander from their heights down to the grass that
waits below. And I feel sometimes that I should hold my breath so I don’t interfere in
any way with their travel. And what is it that is the final factor that cuts that leaf loose?
They must be holding on by invisible golden threads, because I’ve been under a tree when a
bit of a breeze kicks up and they drop in thunderous waves. Who knew that detached leaves
could make so much noise before they ever hit the ground? If I was Sir Isaac Newton, it
wouldn’t have been an apple that made me think about gravity. I probably would have
been sitting under a tree watching leaves fall. And it wouldn’t have made me think about
scientific formulas and math and stuff. I would have been wondering if the trees were
sad when they dropped their leaves. Did it make them feel lonely? Does it tickle?
When the fog comes in, and the leaves fall slowly, is it like a secret? Does the fog bring
with it the Autumn Faeries that pick up the acorns that the squirrels have left behind?
I think they dance in the fog and catch leaves as they circle to the ground. Then they
pick up acorns and use the tops for hats. Shhhhh, I think I hear them coming....
background paper Paislee Zippyhippy hummus (blended)
Stacked Photo Frames
In Review WordART No. 01
2007 + 2008 + 2009 Brackets Title + Journal
KPertiet 2 Celebrate Paper Pack