To the Editor,
The leaves fell softly like snowflakes. Although I wasn’t gifted with a good sense of direction, I embarked on the three-mile loop in City Park, despite the path being …
To the Editor,
The leaves fell softly like snowflakes. Although I wasn’t gifted with a good sense of direction, I embarked on the three-mile loop in City Park, despite the path being strewn with leaves, obscuring the white line on the pavement. Tell-tale crunching behind me in ankle deep leaves alerted me to a fellow traveler’s approach.
The canopy of trees provided ample shade as the leaves landed on my straw hat. This particular afternoon was an Indian summer day, perhaps the season’s last hurrah.
As I came upon the Poor Farm cemetery nestled under the pines, I reflected on how its residents didn’t have much in life, but their final resting place was rich in beauty, in a peaceful setting (except for the occasional jet passing overhead, breaking the spell momentarily.)
The sun peaked through the tall trees, casting long shadows across the path. While I felt I was in a forest, every now and then I glanced up to see signs of civilization which reminded me I wasn’t far from the parking lot.
Sometimes I was startled by the scurrying sound of an unseen animal beside me, as I passed the creature’s home somewhere under the leaves.
In a few weeks, snowflakes will replace the falling leaves and footprints in the snow will follow other travelers. For now I’ll soak up the last hours of autumn, as I stoop to choose a red and yellow leaf as a souvenir.
Erin is an occasional contributor to the Warwick Beacon, having written profiles, reporting events and sharing moments like this.