A Muted Day

I stroll leisurely along the avenue as silent trees stand sentinel. Not one leaf rustles or whispers; no branch breathes or even sighs. No gust catches me off guard at the top of the hill so that I pull my scarf more snuggly ‘round me. All is still. The earth exhales its evocative perfume. The birds quietly murmur to each other among the leaves. The squirrels merely mumble as they scavenge for winter’s food; their chatter subdued among the boughs. The Crow’s raucous call remains unvoiced. I wonder if animals are aware of the change in the air? How restrained they are - how subdued the normal clamor. As I walk, only my footsteps echo in my ear - all other sounds are suppressed to a subtle understated shuffle - the day is like walking through cotton – or a cocoon of softest flannel- so subtle, so serene, so restrained. The autumn colors’ resonant pigments subtle as the ripple on a millpond, hum an inaudible lullaby, rich and deep to keep the noises at bay. Today the burgundies, oranges and yellows are muted, their potency not diminished by the absence of the sun. I see each and every color created, every individual leaf and branch that shades the world; and all the muted undertones in between murmur their quiet hue. The clouded sky of pearlized gray allows the colors to emit the hue of their choosing - burnished, buffed beyond recognition; brilliant in the restrainment of inaudible complexity - on this muted day.