There is a sound to fall. Quiet, yet unmistaken. Surrounded by forest, I can hear the soft drop of countless leaves, each braving their descent. It is final. I look up and I can see the leaves dancing on their way down. Some attempt a spiral, while others, mimic a ship on a storm tossed sea. Each chooses their timing well, a symphony of falling gold. The ground can feel heavy from the weight of the fall. Such weight reminds me of the reason why I am outside today. Hastening my pace, I balance the wheelbarrow filled high with fresh straw. Quickly it bounces over rocks and twigs as I make my way into the vegetable garden. Carefully I empty the wheelbarrow, taking care not to bury any renegade chickens looking for last season’s offerings. The wind picks up and the leaves forcibly descend, I do not think they appreciate the wind’s contribution to their whirl. I must hurry. I have been told that a storm is on the way and so I continue my work. My wheelbarrow is squeaky as it rolls along. Tired from a long season, it begrudgingly carries the last of the mulch and straw. Building layer upon layer, each bed is built. These layers protect from the pounding drops of rain that are intent on compounding the soil structure below. The soil can be surprisingly delicate if it is to support growth in the following spring and summer. I think the soil feels grateful that nature does not intend a performance in every season. Far beneath the heavy surface, it will rest, restore its strength, and wait for a time when the days will be long and the sun again shine. I wonder if the world can see such assurances of growth and confidence even in a season of quiet and rest. Dormancy serves great purpose as it understands its time and place. I push my wheelbarrow out of the garden and close the door on the end of a season so full.