This was one of those weeks that moved at some kind of bizarre super speed. It started fabulously enough. The kids at church put on a fantastic program. Duncan and Caleb, above, were part of the "Kids Under Construction" play. I could watch stuff like that every week. I was so amazed watching Duncan, whose whole goal in life is to play exuberantly, be very serious about this program. He appeared to know the words to all the songs, as well as all the hand motions, and I was impressed.
I love this view of the Smokies from my front yard. I've felt distracted all week, with what seems like dozens of odds and ends of things to do: badges to order, people to call, things to arrange, paperwork to fill out. Stepping outside and breathing in autumn has an instant calming effect on me.
So we spent a lot of time outside this week, doing school by the sandbox. The leaves reached perfection this week. Although autumn is always gorgeous here, I haven't seen a fall this spectacular in years.
It's raining tonight, so I imagine many of the leaves will be down in the morning. Rain was predicted for earlier today, but we were blessed to have another perfect day. The kids had a nature program all morning at a nearby church camp, and we were prepared for a cold and drizzly day. Instead, we got this:
The rain started as soon as we got back into town. On weeks like this, I need to be reminded of the quiet of a single leaf, the smell of a sun-warmed tree, the patchwork quilt of autumn mountains. John Muir said it best: “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountain is going home; that wildness is necessity; that mountain parks and reservations are useful not only as fountains of timber and irrigating rivers, but as fountains of life.”
At the end of a too busy week, I am less frazzled because of early blue skies and red leaves, and now the sound of a November rain.