Autumn photographs are a dime a dozen. But, to me, these are special. These are the very trees, the very leaves and the very fallen needles and berries that soothed my soul when I needed it most.
Thursday was an unusually warm November day with just enough wind to push the crisp leaves into and out of raked piles. I walked slowly for a couple of miles around my neighborhood, which I love, to take in my favorite season, to forget the news, to calm my emotions, to appreciate the simple.
Autumn in the Midwest has its own rich fragrance, as rich as its colors. Every breath I took was unconsciously deep and slow, therapeutic. Who would think organic death could smell so lovely.
An oak leaf, scooped up by the breeze, chased me down the sidewalk and beat me to the corner. I was in no hurry.