A flock of geese flew under the bridge. As they flew along the creek the formation spread out, creating a wider vee. The tightly formed group moved across the water, honking in counterpoint. It is one sound of fall.

It is always a shock how busy a time this is. Birds are flocking, squirrels gathering nuts, insects buzz and flit and scurry. Even with the declining temperatures, there are still many, many instincts to fulfill before winter.

The honey locust are starting to turn their brilliant golden shade, the color that gives them their name. They are one of the first to turn. When the late afternoon sun hits the branches they seem to glow, to exude this same sunlight that has been their nourishment the past months. These young brethren (I always think of them as young, though they are far older then myself, my mother, or my grandmother) are then followed by the elm, the oak, ginko, maple, red bud, birch - all the colors hidden by the overwhelming verdant shade of summer. And that's not to forget the showiest sister of them all. The gum tree, with her ever changing display, her reds, plums, and oranges, who protects her beauty with her spiky seed. With her, each leaf colors of its own accord, with little regard for its neighbor. She is the drag queen of the woods. She is tall and strong, but alluring and sensitive, afraid to be delicate, but more afraid to not be noticed for her strength and her beauty.

The sky puts the trees, the flowers, the birds to shame. After the rains, the first cold breathes of winter, the sky is clear. There is no sky blue on these days. The only blue is the sky, the only blue you see, the only blue that you can conceive. There is no blue to compare to the Midwest sky in October. It is cloudless. It is flawless.

It is this sky that I want to look to. I want to look through the sun dappled leaves, beyond the wispy clouds, and loose my conscienceness to the sky. If you lie on your back in the middle of a field and look at the sky, it seems to come near you. The same thing happens at night. The stars will come closer. They'll swirl around you, dance for you, wink at you. The stars are coquettes, too far away to be touched, but near enough to flirt with their admirerers, to engage their attention without making promises to the lowly watcher. They become more mysterious and more beautiful the longer you look. And then, as the world turns, our star emerges and puts the others to shame. The entire planet erupts in a firey glow, deep violets and fingers of pink stretch across the sky. The mighty glowing mass that glowers on the horizon, jealous of the attention paid to her lessor cousins, softens as respect is paid to her majesty. It is then that I awake, in my bedroom painted white, to the dappled, glittering sunlight as it creeps across my pillow and plays amongst the cracks on the walls.