Fall Living Up To Its Name

I love weeping willows.  They remind me of the country property where I grew up.  As a young girl, at a time when I was reading enough British murder mysteries to know that properties could have elegant names, I thought our rural land should have been called The Willows.  Alas, it was not.  These days, weeping willows and oaks are some of the few trees still valiantly hanging onto their leaves.  Recently, Larry and I drove past some of those brave willows and oaks, as well as a variety of trees that had spilled their brilliant leaves in bright yellow puddles around their trunks.  Those trees are especially beautiful to me when they hold onto just the lower half of their yellow leaves, the luscious fall sun illuminating them and their fallen brethren on the ground.  Fall is living up to its name.