Like the “Last Rose of Summer,” the falling autumn leaves mark the close of another season. At the farm, the painted tree tops are fading now, but a few sturdy oaks still cling to their color, tempting you to grab a sweater and camera and go for a walk along the crunchy pathways. On such walks, I invariably begin humming the old favorite: “Autumn Leaves.”
Frank Sinatra recorded the melancholy tune in the Fifties, that starts with: The falling leaves drift by my window, the falling leaves of red and gold and ends with the haunting refrain, I miss you most of all, my darling, when autumn leaves start to fall.
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