A scatter of snow one day followed by our first serious frost of the year has not yet brought the ruby-filled treescape I had thought to see.  No matter, what I have seen is a deliberate fall of individual leaves set to invisible music.

Each leaf is falling in a solitary dance down these windless days.  The maple loosens stem from branch and twirls, spiraling all the way down to the ground. Mountain magnolia's broad man-hand-sized oval leaf's languid descent surely inspired Ravel's Bolero.  The oak leaf's skyborn pirouette turns first in one direction then another; a partner for Baryshnikov engaged in a music created by  dance itself.

The 8th century Chinese poets I've been reading suggest enlightenment comes through adoration.  So be it this 21st century Sunday morning in Bethel.