The moon has spilled a bucket of sterling, which washes over the landscape like a river. The trees reach up as if bathing in a shower of light. Their leaves soak in every drop, turning each one into a silver-plated work of art. A forest is coated with light itself and glowing so brightly it is as day. That is, until day actually breaks.
After their late-night shower, the trees fade into darkness. The giant glow in the sky disappears as brilliantly as it came, and shadow falls on them as did the light. The moon has cleansed them and they stand in the peace of their knowing. They settle in for a short rest as the gray horizon begins to lighten.
The mountains, where the trees reside, are steadfast in the darkness, like monuments to history. There is nothing they have not witnessed. They are not shaken, but steady and strong in their silhouette. When the pale pink of first light appears, the contrast is stunning. As day breaks, it bathes the mountains and they blush. The light and the leaves work in unison to remind the valley of innocence. The kiss of autumn is planted on the cheek of the mountainside. All is well.
There is a chill, but as the sun climbs into the sky, there is a crispness to the air that whispers fall has arrived. Looking through autumn lenses creates a pointillistic work of art. Each leaf a dot of color as the arrival of October is celebrated, muted for now, but growing more vibrant by the day. Pink will soon give way to orange, yellow, and red, until finally brown arrives with the winds of November. The valley cautions not to borrow trouble, but to bask in the present moment.
For now, the sky is deep cooler-weather blue. The clouds are wispy as if they are dancers with flowing dresses on a stage. They glide above the mountains, skimming the tops and creating shadows upon their faces of pink. The grass in the fields is standing tall, which adds to the picture as do the large rolls of hay, when it is cut and readied for the winter.
Leaves swirl in the breeze and join the clouds in their dance. The birds provide the song and the acorns bring some percussion as they fall to the ground with thumps. The squirrels chatter with delight at their great fortune, and then scamper up the trees to tuck the nuggets away for later. The hawks are screeching, announcing autumn to all who will listen.
All of this is a reminder that seasons come and seasons go. There is no stopping the turning of the earth. Not even 2020 can do that. The moon knows it. The trees know it. The mountains know it. Even the animals rejoice in the new season. Be still and know. All is well. Even now.