Fall in Iowa is hard to beat. Actually, the entire upper Midwest is a visual wonderland in October. Even on those occasional gray, soggy days when the clouds seem 10 feet off the ground, the dull browns and golds of the farm fields spread out for miles like richly hued wool rugs.
Bright, sunny days with baby blue skies, and the high cirrus clouds are chalky smears among the contrails. Orange, yellow, and red bursts of Maple punctuate that backdrop like great leafy fireworks set off too close to the ground. Rays of sunlight penetrate these translucent canopies and become trapped, endlessly reflecting and ricocheting until every single leaf glows.
The chill morning air fills each last pore in your lungs and spreads out through your body to the tips of your fingers and toes. From the top of even a modest hill you can see almost to the end of the world.
Spring, summer, and winter each hold their own delights. But fall seems that much more grand because it’s a last gasp before the cold, barren months of December, January, and February. Midwesterners walk about on those rare warm November days with a little less purpose than they might otherwise. There’s a feeling that this day of clarity and warmth and light may be the last one we see for a while. Fill your lungs with that air. Let the sun hit your skin and soak into your bones. Feast your eyes on the failing shrouds of sienna and ochre before the Oaks let go their cover for another year.