Yesterday, while Myladylove was having her cracked filling looked after at the dentist's, I adjourned the waiting room for a small park area nearby. I'd hoped to while away a half-hour or so making photos.
As it turned out, there wasn't much autumn color. Many of the trees were already denuded of their leaves, while the hackberries and box elders were dull in thinning cloaks of greenish-yellow.
There were a few asters around, and the ubiquitous poison ivy, but not much else—the one exception being several modest sycamores growing along the edge of a small pond. They looked great against the intensely blue sky.
I mostly shot a few small still lifes, which I'm always prone to anyway, no matter how spectacular the expansive view.
This hasn't been the greatest autumn for color, and it seems like I've somehow—for one reason or another—missed the best of even those few peak days.
Still, no fall slips away without delivering a measure of beauty—even if that beauty isn't quite all we expected. Each new passage is unique, an individual experience, and should be taken on its own terms. Just like with people. And I find there's always plenty to admire if you look carefully.
After all, isn't that what keeps our journeys 'round the year interesting?