As I sit in the cold stone amphitheater, my mind starts to wander as it often does. The bright sun is now being muted by thin clouds to a fluorescent glow that lights everything, yet robs it of vibrant color. The increase in humidity is palpable, chilling the skin, as the sky continues it's journey to the harsh grays of an approaching fall rain.
The breeze picks up, and as it does, it carries leaves with it, making them jump and dance while following the curve of the long stone and concrete benches. My mind's eye sees a race track in the graceful arching curves of the theater. My imagination scribes images of the different types of leaves lining up in the staring blocks. In lane 1, two time sprint champion Pin Oak. In lane 2, the emaciated looking needles of Lob Lolly Pine. In lane 3, the annoying Spike, a prickly little bomb dropped by the Sweet Gum. Lane 4, the genteel Magnolia, too heavy to win, but graceful in defeat. And finally, in lane 5, Live Oak, in all it's vermilion fall splendor.
The tops of the trees stir with anticipation as the breeze blows up, gathering more of the few race fans remaining in the upper reaches of the stadium, and spreads them around the periphery of seats to watch the spectacle about to unfold. Suddenly, a gust of wind, an acorn falls, cracking loudly on a picnic table, and they're off. Pin Oak surges to an early lead, and all but Spike surge ahead, as he struggles to extract himself from a clump of grass.
Magnolia starts well, but after a few end-over-end tumbles, flattens against a wall and races no more. Loblolly tries vainly to keep up, but just can't hold onto the breeze with it's long thin legs. Its down to a two-leaf race. Stem-and-stem to the wire they race, Pin Oak vs. Red Oak, with Pin winning in a photo finish. They both collapse at the end, one over the other, embracing and congratulating each other for a race well run, neither one a loser.
As my heart starts settling back into my chest after the excitement of the race, a stronger, more continuous breeze sweeps in, drawing my attention back to the amphitheater. My mind changes direction again, and a smile creases my face. The wind is roiling up many more leaves now, pushing them along the rows of seats. Every few seconds, a leaf or three floats up above the rush and settles on a seat. The stirring piano melodies of George Winston's "Colors/Dance" fill my ears, and I see the leaves scurrying to get to their seats before the curtain goes up and the show begins. And I am very glad to be there in the crowd, enjoying the show with them.
The breeze picks up, and as it does, it carries leaves with it, making them jump and dance while following the curve of the long stone and concrete benches. My mind's eye sees a race track in the graceful arching curves of the theater. My imagination scribes images of the different types of leaves lining up in the staring blocks. In lane 1, two time sprint champion Pin Oak. In lane 2, the emaciated looking needles of Lob Lolly Pine. In lane 3, the annoying Spike, a prickly little bomb dropped by the Sweet Gum. Lane 4, the genteel Magnolia, too heavy to win, but graceful in defeat. And finally, in lane 5, Live Oak, in all it's vermilion fall splendor.
The tops of the trees stir with anticipation as the breeze blows up, gathering more of the few race fans remaining in the upper reaches of the stadium, and spreads them around the periphery of seats to watch the spectacle about to unfold. Suddenly, a gust of wind, an acorn falls, cracking loudly on a picnic table, and they're off. Pin Oak surges to an early lead, and all but Spike surge ahead, as he struggles to extract himself from a clump of grass.
Magnolia starts well, but after a few end-over-end tumbles, flattens against a wall and races no more. Loblolly tries vainly to keep up, but just can't hold onto the breeze with it's long thin legs. Its down to a two-leaf race. Stem-and-stem to the wire they race, Pin Oak vs. Red Oak, with Pin winning in a photo finish. They both collapse at the end, one over the other, embracing and congratulating each other for a race well run, neither one a loser.
As my heart starts settling back into my chest after the excitement of the race, a stronger, more continuous breeze sweeps in, drawing my attention back to the amphitheater. My mind changes direction again, and a smile creases my face. The wind is roiling up many more leaves now, pushing them along the rows of seats. Every few seconds, a leaf or three floats up above the rush and settles on a seat. The stirring piano melodies of George Winston's "Colors/Dance" fill my ears, and I see the leaves scurrying to get to their seats before the curtain goes up and the show begins. And I am very glad to be there in the crowd, enjoying the show with them.
Nature puts on a first-rate show, if you only take the time to stop and watch it.
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