Abracadabra!  Like the large handkerchief whipped off a top hat revealing a rabbit, the melt-down of last week's first snow left this year's promise of a prolonged and stately dropping of leaves in the dreamland from which it came.

The oak, perhaps determined to keep the mighty of its adjective true and fresh, is the only tree in the valley still yet filled with golden-reddish leaves.  And has - oh the temerity - even kept at its core a pale and shimmery green. The others though, are done.  Excepting the occasional beauty of an individual leaf's drifting dance, the great magic of falling leaves is over.

Today the rabbit, having escaped the top hat, is returned to a last smattering of leaves and bared branches. Her fur thickening and her downy warren plush,  I would think she neither dreads nor anticipates in pleasure the coming winter, instead moving effortlessly from one season to another.  What would be change for us is metamorphosis for her.  Magic.  Our magic may seem lost in a top hat but that too, may only be an illusion created by our money-crazed modern world.

Abracadabra! and we wake running through a forest floored in russet leaves.  Running to the home we never lost after all.