Fall is blowing in with all its light and all its color and all its subtle sadness. The trees shine as if illuminated from inside, the yellows this year particularly vibrant, especially today, against the gray sky.

The wind yanks leaves from the limbs and then those leaves drop like brilliant snow, covering the ground.

Our old dog will not make it until spring. She shuffles through the leaves, walking, yes, but now unwilling to walk far at all. There were days, years, when she would race off chasing deer, and it would take a good long time for her to make her laughing way back.

And even now, when she turns to make her unswerving way home,  long before I would have turned, she looks over her shoulder, taunting, with merry eyes and a big smile. She’s had enough, she’s going home, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

There is a lot that’s like that, I think. Life goes on, people do what they will, and laugh about it, the joy of the decision as rich as any reward. I remind myself often these days to be merry, to enjoy all of this, for as long as I have it, as long as I can enjoy it. If misery is optional, that must mean joy is, too.