I get a bit nostalgic this time of year and think fondly of my childhood in CT. It's a little damper here in WA compared to a New England fall, and as a result the crunch of dead foliage as you walk is a bit muted. The colors of the changing leaves aren't quite the shocking display that Vermonters and their neighbors might enjoy either.
I scrambled today, with my wife and dog, over treacherously slippery logs and under the cover of the largest trees I've known. I dug deep into the woody mulch with my fingers and crushed a chalky mushroom in my fist. As my dog bounded ahead in pursuit of a chuckling squirrel, I smiled and felt the change settling all around me.
Fall is an aptly named season, because change descends from above and rests around us. It is a more subtle season with a long approach. It is a season for letting go of the past and thinking with anticipation of the future.
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