No matter how much the sunny afternoon tries to fake me out, the coloring is on the tree, Fall is here. The Equinox is two days behind us. And while at home, I wouldn't be surprised to see new leaves crowding old ones, because Fall is Spring and Spring is Fall, here, being the American that I am, even if I grew up in Florida, Fall means leaves turning colors, the smell of cursing rakers in the air, pumpkins on porches and dreams of costumery and candy filling the heads of marketing executives.
Fall, in this part of Michigan, is on the move.
|These are not pumpkins. I don't know what it means but yard art is yard art.|
|I thought this was a park. Mackey wanted it to be a park. The no trespassing signs indicate that it is a huge yard belonging to the house to the right of the photo. Pretty gazing, though.|
|Fall and football go together like rice and beans|
|Are these crabapples?|
|Empty railroad tracks are becoming a favorite|
|The old and the new|
|Maybe I should go rub their bellies.|
p.s. I have no doubt there are tiny houses around here. They are still hiding from me.