Above: the golden years

For some reason this fall in particular I’ve been especially struck by the beauty of my neighborhood. I live on the Eastside Hill with my wife and dog. One of the benefits of having a dog is that at least two if not three times a day that dog and I are hitting the sidewalks, streets, and alleys to get out and about. (And I know if it wasn’t for the dog, that wouldn’t happen nearly as much.) This year I, and I’m pretty sure my dog too, just can’t get over the colors of the trees, the falling leaves, and the whole neighborhood in general. Thanks to the general beauty of the entire valley, I know there are thousands out there experiencing the same thing in their own neighborhoods too. Of course, at some point the enjoyment of those leaves fades, as you spend hours and hours raking the wrinkled, dried-up beauty off your lawn and stuffing what feels like thousands of handfuls into dark bags to be taken away and disposed of. It’s kind of funny/sad really. I suppose our human lives are basically the same. We spend most of our lives green and immature. Then, at the very end, the varied color of our experience bursts forth in a short-lived personal beauty – until we wrinkle up, fall off the tree of life, and someones stuffs us in a dark place and disposes of us. Is it sad? Is it beautiful? Or is it both?