I start today's seven-miler watching my energetic neighbor pile bountiful brown leaves along both sides of the walk. A sky of gray fleece opens one brief buttonhole of light. When I reach the Starkweather bridge the olive-green, weedy-green creek seems solid and still as marble. Year by year I watch my pace and resilience tumble like foliage from the trees, so I'm glad for this easy hour out and back on strong and sturdy legs. My ambitious neighbor's relentlessly raking when I return. He points to three large, leafy nests clotting the bare branches above us. The wind naps. The leaf mounds stand. I run Fall's gauntlet of beauty and decay.
Copyright 2007 by Brian Dean Powers