Last weekend witnessed a perfect coincidence of Indian Summer and the peak of autumn foliage. Then the wind and rain swept in, as they inevitably do, washing the reds and golds like spilled paint over the lawns and sidewalks. I know the leaves in the yard need raking, but I hate to disturb such a beautiful carpet. All too soon, a gritty, grey layer of ice and snow will encrust the garden, and our boots will scrape over sand and salt as we tread down the steps and along the pathway.
I enjoy the wind and rain of autumn. They remind me of many, many days around Victoria and Vancouver, hiking damp trails, my head full of the scents of wet cedar and forest mould. But I also feel in them the chill of winter.
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