There’s a party going on in my back yard, and a good one too, from the looks of it. Seems like everyone is getting quite rowdy with the confetti of fall strewn everywhere.
The Aspen tree is still a bit tipsy with its gorgeous, yellow leaves dancing precariously in the wind, leaves who are trying to stay, but must reluctantly let go and drift to the ground. Beyond are two Dogwoods and an Ornamental Pear, outfitted in shades of red, yellow and green, clinging to their dresses as they sober up for what’s to come, avoiding their nakedness for the oncoming, dreary winter as long as possible.
The Plum trees, in their superior pompousness, taunt their cohorts by staying various shades of green much later as the big freeze approaches. The Oaks, living on both sides of the yard, refuse to take responsibility for the melee and silently pepper the earth with stunning colors of red, yellow and orange when they know no one is looking.
Grandfather Spruce, who lives in the far left back corner, and approaching 42 years old in December, chuckles in the wind and admonishes all with “clean up your mess.”
But his words, lost in the wind, go unheeded as the youngsters, in their party mood, cavort, sway in the wind, and bare their souls to the upcoming winter. No one assumes responsibility for cleaning up the aftermath of this drunken brawl either.
“It’s a monumental task” they whine, “in shutting down for winter, grieving for the death of our leaf children who sacrifice for the good of all of us tree parents, keeping us healthy and long lived. So we will leave the cleaning up tasks to the humans who enjoy the beauty we present. Let them savor these memories until we give birth to new life in five months or so.
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