Barbra Brady

Autumn leaves, left.

In Things I Have Loved on October 9, 2009 at 4:30 pm

I’ve just spent my first, and surely only, fall in Helena, Montana.

Yes, it is only October 9, but fall has given in, has acquiesced to winter.

There wasn’t much at all of a fall leaves scene here, save for a few mildly yellow ones of some sort, which marks this as the palest of all falls I’ve witnessed since moving away from central Florida after autumn of 1989.

1990-1995. Greensboro NC had fall splendors that stopped me in my tracks, This became hazardous at times. (Native Floridian that I am, I’d gawk at the shameless maples while driving, to the point of slowing down to about 10 mph, not so safe.) And when fall break rolled into town (yeah, it puts spring break to shame for one such as myself), I’d set my car west, and be-dazzled, on the Blue Ridge Parkway each October.

1996-2007. Missoula MT had gorgeous, if not indigenous, maples. And larches. I remained entertained, peeping wise.

2007-2008. Sonoma. Sweet Sonoma. Grapevines. Crepe Myrtles. And others, which while more innocent than those raucous east coast types, made me smile. For hours and hours.

sonoma fall

Sonoma Fall

So, this being the first fall in 20 years that has been less than eye-catching, I’m recalling fall in appreciation. Of  colors past. And future. Yep, I’ll find them.

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