The mountains are sun-baked and slowly taking to flame as the maples kindle red and the aspens rain gold. The crabapple tree is dropping fruit the size of gum balls – a perfect fit for little mouths. I laugh each time the boys scramble out onto the pavement so they can feel the warm sun and hide apples inside their cheeks.
The little ones are sleeping now and I can hear our bamboo chime knocking. Knocking the crisp hollow of Autumn. She’s been calling, coming to the door with her shoes blown off – kneeling in reverence at the sight of nature unveiled.