Spellbound

I walked down to the hill at dusk today. A freaky warm day after a few weeks of refreshing, cool weather. Even late in the day, the air was warm and heavy, almost oppressive.

Seemingly overnight, greens in the woods have begun to disappear, replaced by yellow, brown, orange, tan, red. Standing at the top of the hill in the low light of the evening, looking down at the expansive fern beds, I was held spellbound. 

As beautiful as the ferns are in the spring—fresh, bright green, elegant—they are stunning in the fall—the color of sweet hay, relaxed, even slouching against one another, proudly showing the wear and tear of the summer season. I stood there until dark. Spellbound.