It's chilly now. We have had rain for many, many days. The beautiful leaves are knocked from the trees, and the robins are congregating in the field. These robins look like scruffy versions of their spring selves, rusty brown chests, mottled neck feathers, no luster.
Each morning I watch the clouds draped around the hilltop from the dining room window. Some days, they never leave. On the days they blow away, or a weak morning light pushes them off, autumn dazzles. The colors push against each other in their glittering perfection; there is nothing soft about them. Even at this distance, I can feel the hardening edges of the dying leaves, but they die in glory.
The pine trees did something this fall that I had not noticed before; they lost about half their needles in a huge in one fell swoop. The trees are still green, as the other needles remained, but I had never seen them lose needles en masse. Today, I gathered these to mulch around the blueberry bushes. By next fall, I'll know something new, like whether pine trees do this every year and whether blueberries like pine needle mulch.
We made more applesauce and everyone has enjoyed the four different soups I made this week. I am excited by beets and hard skinned squashes. It must be fall.
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