I will say this, though: there is great delight to be found in stepping on the leaves, cracking their yellowing backs between your heel and the sidewalk, listening to the delicate melody of their shattering as your weight crushes them to dust. It is a percussion unmatched, except perhaps by heave and meaty slip of those late winter ice racks that gather along the edge of the sidewalks, shattering as you step across them.
I do not like Autumn one bit, but I love my dog's place in it, especially the sound of him kicking up its wake as he moves forward, ever forward, his propeller tail stirring their air behind him, his smile and amazing eyes pulling him forward.
There is music to be found there. Duncan is its maestro and all I can do is learn to listen and try as hard as I can to allow his tune to carry me along.