Fall color is beginning to appear. The leaves of the vine maple, which were a bright red in springtime, and then became a translucent green, are now turning dusky orange. The oaks are sporting a few leaves of pale brown or dark yellow, and those of the peach tree now look like rusty spear heads. The fruitless mulberry has large, heavy leaves of dark green, but those which are almost ready to fall shade through a light chartreuse to lemon yellow, and dozens of them now lie on the green lawn, slowly drying in the warm afternoon sunshine. Across the street, the dogwoods have produced their fall crop of bright red berries, but these are still mostly hidden among the leaves which are rapidly turning a deep purple. In a few weeks, they, too, will turn red.
Squirrels are clambering about in the oaks and in the walnut tree, barking at one another as they bicker over the possession of nuts and acorns. Sometimes, the crows grab the nuts while the squirrels argue. They fly above the street and drop the nuts onto the pavement to crack the shells, then come down to peck out the contents. After they leave, the blue jays search the spot for crumbs.
In the evening, I watch the pale white crescent of the new moon shining through a patch of diaphanous pink cloud, as the pines are silhouetted against the deepening blue of the western sky. The very slightest chill enters the air, the buzzing of the bees stops, and the crickets begin to chirp. The new color fades from the trees, until dawn will restore it, even richer than today.