These days my running is often accented with the sharp crunching of leaves underfoot. Many of the trees burst into deeply burnished flame a few weeks ago, and the ashes now fall from their branches in clumps — slowly transforming into the skeletal silhouettes that will possess their own stark, wiry beauty. But one brilliant latecomer still blazed a bright orange against the gathering brown at the park where I ran cross-country on Sunday. It stood out like the gaudy warlord of the season, a heroic guardian of the few days of real Fall allowed to us here. I slowed my run to a walk as I passed it, out of respect and to look at it closely a little longer. Its colors gave even the weakening November sun an infusion of strength, making the light appear sharper and bolder.
But the crackling underfoot reminded me that I needed to finish my run, and leave the tree to slowly, finally, surrender its glory. It still glowed in the twilight as I drove away. I doubt it will still carry the torch for fall when I return.
