When they breath into chilling winds their last leaves of the season, skeletons of once full canaopies are revealed, welcoming the last day of October, the celebration of the dead.

All around, God’s confetti covers the ground, the Earth, the paths, walkways, streets, and the cross roads of life.

How jarring it is to realize that others are not entranced by the sounds, the colors, and the smells of Fall; that fibrous damp scent, of dried out rotting foliage; the sensation of cold air ripping across the cheek; the delight of more colors than any painter could possibly imagine – everywhere hanging, and falling like giant pieces of rain as wind rocks the droplets from the rain-bowed clouds hanging just above our heads.

All too soon there will only be the sleeping wood of sentinels, with scrappy bony fingers and tentacles scraping long gray icy, snowy skies. But for now, the colors of heaven abound. And everything ceases, as these sensations invigorate the spirits sensitive enough to bear them witness.