Back at my Foothills home, new life emerges. Angel the dog, and my achy legs head out for a short walk. I've been away for one week, and it is like returning to a new home.
Green emerging everywhere!
This confounds my Minnesota sensibilities. Fall should mean leaves turning brilliant colors and dropping to the ground. Death. Not here. The only thing that falls are acorns (which are dropping quite frequently).
No. Fall in the Foothills means a new color. The browns and reds and tans give way to green. Tiny green shoots. Green grass. The hills start looking lush. More like Spring than Fall.
I've been walking this road through the four seasons: Winter (endless rain); Spring (flowers!); Summer (intense heat and brown dryness); And now Fall (new life and shimmering green).
Pick a favorite, Allan? Winter sucks (the only good thing about it is that you can have an occasional campfire without worrying about burning up the entire State of California). Spring is wonderful. Summer has it's own charms with the evening breeze that blows down from the Sierra.
But I'd have to say Fall is my favorite. It is still warm. There is moisture in the air. The return of the color green gives your eyes a break from surveying tan and brown. Perfect hiking weather. We should have a few more weeks of joy until the winter rains begin.