Trace Falls

It's hard to believe the fairest month of the year is almost over. Our October weekends have been packed with the celebration of fall. The third weekend is no different; it's for seeing the fall colors. We drove down the Natchez Trace to Leiper's Fork and back.

Where do they come from: these beautiful colors, as sweet as Tupelo Honey? Do they sit inside and wait until the water hoarded all summer freezes in veins and then do they turn it to wine for the eyes? And why do we make loitering pilgrimages to see them at great heights and in the lowest hollows? What is about the commune between the colors and us that is so fulfilling? And is it mutual?