The blur of the busy, the full plate, and the inability to see what is missing or left out or left behind until I trip over the very necessity that I proclaim I steadfastly chase and hold onto dearly . . . 

Joy.

In the darkness that I allowed to blossom last week, I saw the glories of fall—the orange and gold leaves of the massive tree I can see from my kitchen window!  I have observed this tree washing dishes and cooking and watering plants and wondering how I am going to close my two kitchen windows tight. The tree is a few doors down the block in another backyard.  Green all summer, it has slowly been turning into a mighty blaze of autumn color. Last Monday, it was glorious as if lit from deep within, as if ablaze of yellows and oranges. I was almost unable to take in so much color. As the week moved forward and the wind picked up, topmost leaves fell in a rain of gold. By Wednesday, some of the orange was fading into brown and some of the brown joined the rain. By Friday, the gold had almost vanished and the tree top was almost bare, and the weekend saw more of the same.  Today, much more than half the tree is all branches, a skeleton of its summer self.

The noticing filled me with something that I had lost to exhaustion and frustration.

I can admit to missing the necessity of raking leaves.  I know I used to complain when my Madison gardens were filled over and over with the leaves of big trees for what felt like months.  And I miss the Julia as a little girl who raked and jumped in piles and enjoyed it all. Now, I look in yards full of leaves with a bit of longing, but not enough longing to volunteer to help rake.  Maybe some year soon?

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