As I arrive - here - this late afternoon...it's raining.
They're saying the rain is needed. The rivers and streams are thirsty. I believe them.

Out my window...the trees are golden orange and rusty red.
As the wind blows...the leaves are falling.

Why is it that each year seems just a little bit more beautiful than the last?
How is it that each year's season is just a little more fleeting?

This morning - there was sun. The clouds fore-telling of the day to come.
And the geese.
They're everywhere these days.

Along with the leaves...and the rain...and the waning light.
Their distant call is haunting.