Seemingly, in one afternoon our black walnut trees transformed from green to gold. One afternoon more and they shamelessly dropped their dress completely.
Branches, their tips touching the ground for most of the summer, now free of their burden, snapped back to their position of rest feet above my head.
It was a flush year, our hands stained black from collecting up the harvest.
The squirrels will eat well this winter.
Tough shells to crack, these black walnuts. An impenetrable rocky-hard shield encased in pulpy green.
Combined with her juglone secretions, she keeps competitors at bay. She knows how to stake a claim in the forest.
The now denuded trees are the passage of time made visible. Green to gold to bare and back again.