October ends

The colors that are now predominate in our landscape are those of green, yellow and brown. The only red to be seen is to be found on our blueberry bushes, our japanese red maple and the red berries found on wild bushes.
The hummingbirds have long flown away to southern climes and day by day the large flocks of geese pass overhead calling out to each other and to me as they begin their journey.
It is almost the end of fall. Pumpkins are being carved in anticipation of Halloween, apples are being made into sauce and cakes, dried and frozen in anticipation of winter. We patiently wait as the cold nights and frosty mornings bring out the sweetness in our small patch of Gilfeather turnips and brussel sprouts. Garlic is to be planted in hopes of a good crop next July and the perennial beds need a little grooming and care before the ground freezes and the snow comes.
Life flows with the seasons. It changes gradually and we almost miss some parts of it. In August I begin to notice the yellow that starts to appear on the mountains and by mid-October the leaves have changed from green to red, orange, gold and more. 
I take time each year to walk a little slower down our dirt road. To spend time kicking through the dried leaves. To listen to their crunch as I step on them. This brings back fond memories of my mother and fall. She loved to kick through the leaves.
My mother's life was not easy growing up. They were poor and her father died when she was young. This was the one time as a child when I saw in my mother what she may have been like as a child before the weight of the world settle on her shoulders and made her bitter.
She would take me up to Mt. Holyoke College which was about 5 miles from our house. They had lovely trails through the campus and woods. No one raked up the leaves to make things nice and tidy. Here they lay scattered like a rug of many hues. We would always start of at a walking pace. Just slow enough to shuffle through the leaves and let them slide off our shoes. Our pace would pick up and we would shuffle and run, kicking the leaves up and around us. The trees, always being agreeable, would continue to drop their leaves on us like so much colored confetti. We would save brightly colored ones and have fistfuls because there was so much beauty in them that we couldn't pass one up. It would be a glorious hour or two every fall. Just the two of us and the leaves. A couple of kids having fun like kids should. Even though one of those 'kids' was my mom.