The world outside is yellow. The trees in my yard and across the street turn anywhere from dull brown to bright  yellow in the fall, depending on how much rain we've had during the summer. This year they're macaroni-and-cheese yellow. 

We peered up at the trees last weekend, commenting on how odd it was they hadn't turned yet. It happens so fast. They turned and began falling a few days ago, and now my deck is carpeted in sunshine even as it the sky is gray and rainy. 

It reminds me of "All Summer in a Day," a little, knowing how quickly this beauty will explode and then fade into another winter.

"The leaves are starting to fall, Mommy."

"Yes. That front tree will go first. It won't take long. It usually loses all its leaves a day or two after they start to drop. Then the three in the back take a lot longer."

"Maybe that's the mommy tree, showing her babies it's okay to drop their leaves: Just relax and let go."

I thought of all the layers to what she'd said, what leaves provide to a tree, what faith a tree would have to have the first time it dropped its leaves if trees have souls.

Stunned into silence, I watched the leaves flutter to the ground.