“The gift of an image is that it provides a place to watch your soul.”
During a typical colorless autumn in central Texas, I went in search of fall color at Lost Maples, where the heritage trees were said to produce brilliant persimmon hues. Instead, I found the sad faded colors and muted reflections of downed sycamores, reward enough in themselves. Finding no vivid hues, I focused on this place to watch my soul.
Then the lost maples threw me a twist—in the form of one lost maple leaf, a surprise along a rocky path, with all of the brilliance I’d yearned for. ♣