Mount Shasta: The pines and cedars are ever green, of course. But the birch on the front lawn has burst into a pale yellow, and now a million tiny perfect leaves swirl in heaps upon the lawn. The dogs root and sniff, suspicious.
In the back yard, the apple tree is turning, and the pear tree close behind. The leaves on the holly are still deep green, and the bright red berries say Yule must be on the way.
What is Brother North Wind’s secret?
(Brother North Wind’s secret is revealed in the best novel in the world, which is “Little, Big” by John Crowley. Think ye some other novel better? Humppf! Indeed. How little big you know.)
One thinks of the mountains as filled with pine and cedar and spruce, and sure they grow tall above the homes in plenty. But the hills and the yards are aflame with thousands of trees whose names I do not know.
One thing sure: It’s fall.
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