The sky here is white today. In the midwest the ground is the same shade of shadowed white.
Fall finally found us. You can see which streets she ran down, arms open wide, hands and fingertips brushing against the trees staining them gold. They shine like torches in the diffuse light of morning. Trunks and branches deepened in their bark to look like iron posts holding the flames that stretch skyward.
A flutter of leaves drift down just on me, courtesy of the swish of the city bus ahead. I enjoy the bright yellow blizzard and think about the last paper white snowstorm that left me giddy.
May your eyes be alert to a moment worthy of gilded bows and shining paper, full of anticipation and so beautiful that you open it slowly to reverence the awe of its packaging and the joy in its contents.