While the foliage isn’t particularly gorgeous this year, I was enchanted with the color one foggy morning two years ago. This is based on notes I took that day.
The trees have put on their coat of many colors–brilliant and still against the fog this morning. What arresting beauty. What a glamorous silent parade.
The fog–that quieting, cottony blanket–makes the brittle angular cornstalks so invitingly yellow and brown. A question sits alone at the edge of the cornfield with its dense, barely-diaphanous backdrop: Is this the edge of the world?
How are we all still going about our day like this is completely ordinary? How are there not huge pile-ups on the freeway–not because of the fog but because of a unanimous need to admire this glowing autumnal glory. How is not every vehicle turned off and parked on I-94, drivers perched cross-legged on top of their cars, smiling and pointing out every majestic feature of this view? It will not be the same tomorrow or even when the fog lifts.
How are we not all in cardiac arrest or at least demanding to be out of doors all day?
It’s all too intoxicating to render us useful. Go ahead Officer, take us away. We’re high on color, on fog, on leafy pulchritude.