Almost all the leaves are now fallen and I was so busy gaping at them, the bright jewel toned beauties, that I hadn't the time to come in and write about them. This year, apparently, was one of the brightest and longest and most colorful in many years, some will even go as far as to call it thirty years, but I'm not sure if I can trust someone that dramatic. But it has lasted long, and scientifically due to the rain and the season we had, this brilliance had been predicted. It was truly difficult to drive, at times.

Now the leaves scatter the ground in a carpet of brown yellow and orange, melting into one color that I can't name, except for: dried autumn leaves. At dusk, which now comes quickly, too quickly for me, I walked out to dump the compost and the chill invigorated me for a walk to the water. The air smells like ice; cold cold water. I could hear someone chewing,the muskrats, who have been eating every exposed root and grub, ripping up the grass in preparation for, what I think is going to be a very cold winter. Indians used to base their predictions for the cold on how much wood beavers stocked in the water. I'm basing it on muskrat hunger. A new song?

Across the way I heard loud leaves crunching. Deer? I saw a flash of white tail and a scurrying. Canine? I guessed it was a fox, getting up for the night.

The sun was gone, and my feet were fast getting cold. A star winked. I gathered up a breath of cold air and headed back indoors where meatloaf cooked in the oven.