Autumn trees are magicians.  They work slow-motion magic in the silence of October nights as darkness wrestles minutes from each day.  Preordained frost becomes their magic wand, turning weary leaves crimson, russet, persimmon, scarlet, gold.

Summer’s steady, stalwart green transforms against its will, becoming showy flash and fiery glow.  Sweatered seekers roam rural roadsides for Autumn’s treasure–apples, cornstalks, pumpkins, cider, pots of mums, and flowering kale. But Autumn’s magic does not end with these alone.

There is so much more to see.

There are humbler miracles–low to the ground–easy to miss in deep Fall.  Stealthy chill fingers turn flower stems dry and leaves to mottled gray.  As their little lives ebb, they crumble and bend under the weight of crisp seed pods which crack and open in the sun, releasing tiny promises to the ground below.

In deep Fall the once pert and perfect gardens of Summer become wizened tangles of naked stalks and fallen leaves and bowed brown flower heads.   Upon a closer, bent-kneed look, good fortune may show you a final bloom—small, vibrant, perfect–a final gift before the frost.  These tiny gifts sit still and wait for keener eyes to see.  They are the magical ones—the ones who have summoned their waning energy for one last chance to blossom, giving us a final gasp of beauty before the hard frost.