"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf's a flower," saith Albert Camus. Maybe.
Even if every leaf's a flower, there is still mutability all around everywhere you look. The woods are breathtaking, but up close those "flowers" are deeply scarred and torn.
Maybe Robert Browning had it right. Autumn steals your heart by its "mute appeal for sympathy for its decay," he wrote.
You can't help but feel it. Still, even up close, decay can hardly be this beautiful.
But let's go with Browning--to grasp all this color, you've got to figure in all the dying. How about this: yesterday, the woods "up north" were greatly "alive with death." Or else this: autumn is decay on a grand scale.
It may well be a strange thing for a Calvinist to say, but this morning I'm thankful for fall.