Auspicious autumn

The sun is stair-stepping its way through thin strips of clouds that stretch upward from the mountain tops.
Dark is a recent memory. I had to turn the pole light on to get the newspaper. I have a habit of running out in my barefeet to grab the paper which means dodging acorns littering the sidewalk like painful mini land mines just waiting to bruise my tender flat feet.
Squirrels have turned our yard into their personal winter warehouses. Every flower bed has mysterious holes that have been not so carefully covered by squirrels more worried about quantity than quality.
Between the oak tree out front and the walnut tree beside the driveway, we have variety and abundance to maintain a thriving squirrel population.
Every time I open the front door, squirrels scatter like furry insurgents searching for a place to hide. Sometimes leap-frogging over each other in their haste to reach their lofty lofts.
Fall is here.
I can feel it in the air. That electric crackle of cold to come. The rich, earthy smell of rotting leaves triggers a shower of autumn memories. My mother has always loved fall. Sweater weather. Bold red oaks and fiery orange maples. When my brother and I were kids, she packed us in the car - sometimes with Aunt Ruthie or Grandmom - and we took off for Hot Springs to see her favorite, perfectly shaped maple tree wearing its autumnal splendor.
As a young journalist, I was assigned a story about fall in the Valley. I met with a US Forest Ranger who explained to me - for the first time - that the color we see is always in the leaves. We aren't actually seeing them turn red, orange and yellow - we are seeing the leaves lose their green camouflage. Shorter days bring an end to the photosynthesis process which created the green chlorophyll in the spring and summer.
The bright reds and purples we see in leaves are made mostly in the fall. In some trees, like maples, glucose is trapped in the leaves after photosynthesis stops. Sunlight and the cool nights of autumn cause the leaves turn this glucose into a red color. The brown color of trees like oaks is made from wastes left in the leaves.
Not a very romantic way of viewing the colors of fall. I think facts must be full of chlorophyll.
When I left work today, I marveled at the tapestry effect of the trees dotting the mountains at the Edinburg Gap. The sun, already weak and sputtering at 5:05, tried its best to throw a few rays on the mountain. The light gave the impression of an Old Master tapestry - gloomy at first glance, but a second look revealed warm colors - reds, oranges, golds, yellows, browns entwined to create the blended look.
It's my habit to pay attention to my surroundings. Next to my typing fingers and my percolating brain, my wandering eyes are great contributors to my written rambles. An art class in college instructed was my wake up call. The professor embarrassed me when he looked at my drawing of the model and pointed out that the face I had drawn was all out of proportion. The ears were too high, the nose too low. I wasn't imitating Picasso. I was looking superficially.
It was an eye-opening (literally) observation for me.
There are a lot of perks that accompany living in the Shenandoah Valley. One of those perks is being surrounded by museum-worthy vistas. Green fields dotted by hay bales. Gently folding mountains that encircle the Valley with maternal majesty. Delicate Dogwoods in the spring. Sunny black-eyed Susans, whispy Queen Anne's lace and blue cornflowers that line the rural roadways, nodding pleasant hellos as cars whiz by. Frosted pine trees, glowing with snow and ice against slate gray skies.
We are lucky to sample all of the seasons in our Shenandoah Valley. Nature is giving us quite a show right now. Take a moment to look at it with open eyes.