embarking on a mid-leaf crisis

Well, maybe crisis is a tad overstated.

Usually we wait until the weekends to run errands or explore any one of the county's endless recreational spots with our dog. But last week we found ourselves facing an errand that simply couldn't wait another few days. It was a now-or-never scenario, and the never wasn’t an option. So, we did what we had to do: Dennie and I left work early, packed up our pup and a few refreshments, and ventured into town. Sure, we had an inconvenient, time-sensitive task ahead of us, but we knew, with the lengthy commute to our destination and back—in rush-hour traffic, no less—we'd never make it home before the end of Dennie's shift. Under the circumstances, we let a few crumbs of carpe diem, a smidgen of spontaneity, and a whit of whimsy be our guide. I mean, if we had to spend a fortune on gas for an inopportune quest, we figured we might as well make the trip worth our while.

Autumn has yet to arrive in our neck of the woods, not on the calendar, obviously, nor in the comforting manifestations of the season: the cool, refreshing nip in the air, the rain, the changing of the leaves. Hiking at the hottest part of the day while summer holds on with both fiery fists is not ideal, which is exactly what led us back to the same park we’d visited only a few weeks ago. There are a number of forest trails here with ample shade, but we weren't looking for a rugged, strenuous hike in the heat (which ruled out plenty), just a pleasant, casual stroll beneath a leafy, protective canopy. And, despite several paths being blocked off for maintenance work--severely limiting our wanderings--we managed exactly that, with our beautiful, bandana-sporting pup at our sides.

Along our journey, we even spotted a glimmer of hope that summer is nearing its end. There at the center of an open lawn, stood a lone tree accessorized with a smattering of vivid red, as if it couldn't bear to await its most stylish season a single second longer.

Maybe there was a mid-leaf crisis, after all. It may not have been ours, but, if you listen to the whispers on the breeze, you'll hear the long-stifled cries of the trees, "May we flash our fall finery. Please?"