I can’t count the number of times I’ve fallen down on the farm, usually on ice. When I do, Rose materializes in a flash, rushing over to see what I’m up to. Photographing a potholder on a stone wall yesterday, I slipped in the mud and fell on my butt, keeping the camera up high to protect it. In seconds, Rose appeared on the stone wall looking for me, seeing what I’m up to. She is a faithful and vigilant creature.

 
   This doesn’t look anything like death, but it is. Autumn is a melancholy time for some, in that flowers, leaves and grass all begin to die. They do it pretty well, I have to say. There is something defiant about a leaf like this, on its last legs, flaming out in orange and red, saying goodbye with heart and style. Surely a message there. Until I became a photographer, I did not pay much attention to leaves. Shame on me.
 Death, like anything else, is what we make of it, and I hope to go out the same way as this leaf out in the woods. Unlike most leaves, this one’s death will be recorded.