As I was driving from town to my home, I saw the houses, streets, landscape in a different light. I didn’t recognize the house where I buy gladioli throughout the summer. Without the table and colorful cut flowers perched in front, the place looked abandoned.
Looking up as I continued my drive, I noticed the multicolored mountains capped by a strip of clear blue and nestled by a blanket of gray cotton.
There is a green house behind the local school that I’d never seen before. It is accessed by a private lane, like so many houses in this area, including mine.
The luscious leaves that come in spring and delight in summer, and the brilliant golds and yellows of fall are so beautiful they blot out everything else. Sometimes I want to freeze the moment, forestall the cold white that is inevitable.
Today, rather than seeing fall as a prelude to winter, I notice what is revealed after the leaves have floated away. The land is new.
Look up. Look around. Notice what you’ve not noticed before.