"The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on."
---Emily Dickinson
Fall has always held a sort of magical quality for me. I almost experience sensory overload from the intensity of the colors. I can be walking along, and suddenly my eyes will be accosted by a mound of chrysanthemums so yellow they take my breath away. Paired with the homespun orange of pumpkins, the bold beauty of these flashy flowers simply stuns me.
The same can be said of fall foliage. I recently paid a visit to Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia, where the trees teem with color. It is difficult to drive because the trees crowd the sides of the roads competing for attention with a gaudy spectacle of orange, yellow, and scarlet. It was almost too much to take in. On the other hand, here on the western Oklahoma prairie, fall puts on a more modest, though no less beautiful, show. Here trees hover along creek banks, and out of a tangle of vegetation, a fiery yellow cottonwood will erupt. Somehow those sporadic, unexpected flashes of beauty are more intense than a whole forest of autumn hues.
