White Dog reads the ancient huge trees in our front yard as a countdown down to the end of Autumn. Never mind what the calendar says. It is all about the three trees that canopy the front of our house with glorious shade in the Summer.
The hummingbirds that flit among the leaves have been gone for a while now. The nights have been dipping down into the thirties...brisk, White Dog calls it; too cold from Puff's perspective. Even the daytime temperatures have finally decided to give us a chance to don sweaters and hoodies in comfort over style.
The lush quaking greenery that filled our front room view for months now hangs limp with shock. The day is coming, White Dog tells me. As soon as the weekend.
This morning, she noted the presence of a few leaves have refused to wait for the command and have leapt to their ends prematurely.
Unusual even for our neighborhood, which is rich in yellows and golds and oranges, the front yard trees of White Dog Ranch condense their color change to one day and then drop en masse the next. The trees are left totally bare and the ground is ankle deep in crunchy mustardy leaves.
Drop Day is a cause for celebration among the White Dogs, particularly White Dog herself. All of the Army takes extra time during walks to stroll our own yard and bulldoze through the leaves. White Dog is allowed off leash for her traditional dance of zoomies and leaps and rolls. It is a sendoff of joy to those leaves, with thanks.
Saturday, she tells me. Certainly not later than Sunday morning when we awaken. Let us be sure to be ready for the dance...and an after meal that captures Autumn into Winter.