Having lived most of my youth in Florida and most of my adult life in Houston, fall in Maine is a new season to me even after 16 years.
As soon as it’s that time of year, I make a special trip to Beth’s market to fill a basket with an amazing array of pumpkins and gourds. They will be used here and then taken to Houston where they will appear one way or another through the Christmas holidays. Indeed, they are a very good investment.
Even after stocking up on pumpkins and gourds, if I see someone on the side of the road selling them I can’t resist stopping for one or two more.
In my neighborhood, I pass this tree daily, and it is always the first indication I see that fall is really here. It shows its coat of many colors early, but it seems to lose it when other trees are just turning.
On beautiful fall days, I enjoy getting in the car and with no destination in mind heading out with my camera to see what else is happening with the change of season. In the rural areas, grass is bundled for winter livestock feed
and wood is piled to keep those winter fires burning.
Expanses of wild blueberry fields have turned crimson
and ponds and lakes reflect the color on their banks.
Driving down any road reveals beauty that in its splendor reveals that God is, indeed, a master artist and my heart fills with gratitude.
Who knows how many more years Maine will be my part time home, but however long that is, I doubt I will tire of fall and the drama of its colors and textures.
i so appreciate your visit and the comments you leave behind