My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.
(Bob Dylan - Mr. Tambourine Man)
As I watched some autumn leaves swirling in a whirlpool in a mountain stream. I was transfixed by the simple circular motion accompanied by the sound of small cascades of rivulets meandering through the ancient boulders.
It is an ancient ritual. The deciduous trees shed their coverlets in preparation for the frigid days ahead, and the pastel hued leaves flutter into the branches and brooks, left to tumble and float downstream like so many miniature canoes.
And as I stared through the viewfinder of my camera, determined to document this ongoing autumnal saga, I came to a sudden realization:
My left shoe was underwater, and it was COLD!
Photo courtesy of SmokyPhotos.com
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