These leaves, blown into the corner of the concrete steps that lead to our front door, they speak to me. Not a reminder of the need to rake (though that certainly is necessary) but of a weariness that often enters my soul this time of year.   As the sun shines fewer hours and the temperatures drop, the gold and crimson leaves begin to turn brown.   They fall to the ground, speckled with dots of infection, and they alternate wet from the autumnal rains and dried out, dying from being disconnected ... [Read More]