Last night the leaves on the Arizona Mountain Ash next door, and the peach tree in my yard, all fell off. There was no gentle drifting one by one, but a mass exodus that happened as we slept. Yes, they had been turning color, but it did seem rather rash and premature; the act of adolescents in rebellion, aiming for shock. Other trees around them were apparently unconcerned. The apricot in another yard, flaunting her thick green crown, is hanging over the fence in a most teasing way, trying to fool me into thinking that there is still more summer left, when I know that fall is well advanced and her time is coming soon, too. All the leaves on the cherry trees, sweet and tart, are clinging to an illusion of life, as are those on the crabapple trees. The Bradford Pears are not even a little bit yellow yet; will there be more balmy, halcyon days after these first light frosts? I certainly hope so, as there are so many chores to do before the ground freezes and the life is invisible around us.
