Autumn is shouting and heraldic. The red, gold, and blue go up to the heavens like a cry of exultation.
Nor does the shout of autumn go only upward, from earth to heaven. It comes down as well, from heaven to earth.
The blue of the sky at its zenith breaks upon the senses like a thunderclap. The shockingly red tree stands up and laughs heartily, like a joyous giant, at the idea that he is nothing but a felicitous arrangement of carbon atoms. For in this atmosphere of bedazzlement reductionism cannot live long.
The flaming leaves come down in a whirl, calling out, "A message! A message!" And the shuffling of feet through the fallen rondels of gold repeats the same in a whisper: "A message! A message!"
For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. (Isaiah 55:12)