Monarch butterflies pass through on their annual migration to Mexico.  Before winter arrives, I will have seen thousands of them—and millions more will have passed through North Central Texas.  It’s always thrilled me to see this insect migration because Dallas is in the middle of the route.  Many have already passed through; there are a great many more to come.

Leaves fall from limbs in a race to see which tree can get naked first.  Their discarded garments blow across the road, they form small drifts beside anything capable of supporting them against the wind, and they rain down on drives and walks as though nature itself transformed precipitation into these colorful little trinkets.  The noise they make indicates magic abounds while the world changes into a stark shadow of the lush life it’s demonstrated for so many months.

The temperature is already flirting with coldness from time to time as our southern location struggles against the might of Old Man Winter.  First warm, then cool, then warm, then cool again, and all within a few days.  Texas is a battleground of climatic extremes and autumn, like its cousin spring, heralds a most dramatic conflict between what was and what is to be.  I so look forward to cold weather.  I’d be happier living in Alaska.