The world was on fire this afternoon just before the sun dipped below the dark, jagged silhouette of The Rockies. The park was ablaze with the last of Autumn's leavings, from the single tongues of flaming leaves catching the late season light, the yellowing blades of grass illuminated through their crisp, delicate skin, the veins dark against the burning, to the inferno that dazzled the trees above our heads.
The grass was a kaleidoscope of the kind of colors I haven't seen since my days in the serene solitude of afternoons spent walking the campus at Lake Forest College: reds the color of heart-blood, browns and blues so deep they were purple, like meaty, still-living tissue, golds and ambers like dreams. Even the walkways were ablaze with the final glow of the fallen locust leaves, tiny wisps of fire that melted the sidewalks of my imagination.
Surely this is Autumn's final burning before winter lays claim to the land. Not that Duncan cares. He is fireproof and reflects the blaze back into the world, lighting our way through the dark months to come.