There’s the one tree that is ready to go ahead of everyone, the slow pokes, and the fantastic tree ablaze in all layers of orange, yellow, and red that I’m sure all the trees get jealous of because they only come in one color. If I were feeling melodramatic, as we writer’s often times feel, I’d say that trees are lucky because they get to die a beautiful death.
When you grow up in heavily wooded Northern New England areas its easy to forget how lucky you really are come foliage season, when families from New York (and even as far as Florida) will drive hours and park dangerously on roadways to snap photos. Trees are pretty, but not enough that I would want to squish myself against my siblings for an 8 hour car ride filled with bathroom stops, too much fast food, and uncomfortable sleeping positions.
The trees in my backyard have been putting on a fabulous show. They peaked last week and now the leaves are slowly starting to drop. The road that was once hidden by green is now uncomfortably exposed and I always see headlights in the living room as cars whip around the turn. The squirrels can no longer hop around the branches unseen. I try to take a peek at where they are building their nests; I heard the higher they go the worse winter is going to be—stay low you furry beasts.
But enough with the poetics. We all know fall is really about getting Pumpkin Spice Lattes at Starbuck.