Zorro came running when I called. My pup led the way into Portland’s fall splendor. Aesthetically, I ate up the endless buffet of lavish reds, pungent oranges, festive golds, and the remains of green. I plucked one leaf from its dance in the breeze to accompany me on my walk. With tiny touches of apricot, maroon, and green, it represented the beauty overhead. I focused on slivered rips in the leaf. Where did they come from? I pondered its gaps, commiserated even: “Must have been the wind, the rain, or maybe a hungry bug. Huh?”

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