A few months into my first autumn in Oregon, so much is fresh. My familiars had been the Aspens, the sole proprietors of changing color in the high mountains of Colorado, set against the backdrop of evergreen.
Opening my front door this morning for some air, I was happily struck by the perfection of this image. It felt like generosity and invitation. I love this big maple leaf and her way of evoking my childhood autumns.
I remember you, Miss Maple! I love your spots. I love how they speak to me of experience, relationship and age as you rest, open, against a piece of firewood. I love the way you settle next to my welcome mat, and the way you invite me down the steps, into the rain and the day, confident, dare I say happy in your decaying presence.