Where the Colors Fall and the Birds Begin to Sing - Oct 25-26, 2025

What do you do when the weather can’t make up its mind? You go for a walk, of course.

That’s exactly what I did this weekend — unpredictable skies and all — with my sidekick Finnegan trotting beside me and my nature-loving Aunt joining the adventure. For me, an ideal day is just that: spending time with my little crew, exploring the natural world, and seeing what wildlife decides to make an appearance.

Finnegan, of course, took his role as co-explorer very seriously — ears perked, eyes focused, like he was on official wildlife-watching duty. I swear, he takes our adventures more seriously than I do. That little face says, “Eyes on the birds, Mom. No distractions.”

Autumn might just be my favorite season. The air is cool and crisp after the long, hot summer, and the world transforms into a living painting of gold, orange, and red. The small birds — dark-eyed juncos, sparrows, and black-capped chickadees — seem to come alive this time of year. They flit and buzz around like it’s springtime all over again, only now their portraits are framed by a canvas of fiery fall foliage.

Did You Know? Why Little Birds Hang Around Berry Bushes (But Don’t Eat the Berries)

If you’ve ever noticed sparrows, juncos, or chickadees flitting in and out of prickly bushes heavy with berries — but not actually eating them — there’s a reason! Those dense, thorny shrubs offer safe shelter from predators and cold winds. The tight branches create perfect hiding spots where small birds can rest, preen, and keep watch for danger.

Many berry bushes, like hawthorn or rose hips, also hold onto their fruit well into winter. So, while the birds may not be eating the berries now, they’re keeping close — waiting until colder months when insects and seeds are scarce. In a way, those bushes are like nature’s cozy diners: the birds may not be ready to order yet, but they’ve already found their favorite table.

Did You Know? The Science (and Beauty) Behind Fall Colors

As days shorten and temperatures drop, trees begin preparing for winter rest. They stop producing chlorophyll — the green pigment that helps them make food through photosynthesis. When that green fades away, other pigments that were hiding all along start to show off their true colors.

1. Carotenoids give us the bright yellows and oranges.

2. Anthocyanins add the deep reds and purples.

3. Tannins bring out rich browns.

This isn’t just beautiful — it’s vital. As leaves fall, they decompose and return nutrients like nitrogen and carbon back into the soil, creating a natural cycle of renewal. That cycle feeds insects, fungi, and microorganisms, which in turn nourish the entire forest ecosystem — from the smallest slug to the tallest heron.

While Finnegan was busy exploring near the base of a tree, I took a moment to really look at the branch beside me — and that’s when I noticed this beautiful patch of lichen. The bright yellow-green color caught my eye first, but then I saw the tiny cup-like discs clustered along the twig, each one like a miniature world of its own. I love moments like this — when slowing down for just a minute reveals the quiet, intricate beauty most people walk right past.

Did You Know?

Lichens aren’t plants at all — they’re a partnership between a fungus and an alga (or sometimes a cyanobacterium). The fungus provides structure and protection, while the alga performs photosynthesis, feeding them both. Together, they form a resilient organism that can grow on rocks, trees, and even bare soil.

Their colors often tell a story too — the golden or yellow tones, like the one I found, come from special pigments that protect them from sunlight. And here’s something even more fascinating: lichens are natural air-quality indicators. The healthier and more vibrant they look, the cleaner the air around them tends to be.

When I’m walking through a trail blanketed with colorful leaves, I’m reminded that fall isn’t just an ending. It’s nature’s way of preparing for new beginnings.

I was lucky enough to photograph a charming pair of mallards — a drake and a hen — who waddled up as if asking, “Did you bring snacks?” Fortunately for them, I did. Payment for their portraits, of course.

A little further along, I spotted not one but two Great Blue Herons hunkered down against the chill, their heads tucked into their warm feathers. I couldn’t blame them. If I had a built-in feather coat, I’d be doing the same. There’s something peaceful about watching them tune out the world — a gentle reminder that sometimes we all need to do the same.

And look at this stunner. Just as I was walking away, a heron squawked overhead and then landed majestically on a perfect perch with fall colors behind. WOW!

Next, a fence full of peacocks who were hunkering down for the incoming rain.

Just when I thought the day couldn’t get better, I heard a familiar tapping and looked up — a Downy Woodpecker! I couldn’t believe it. I only wished it had come a little lower so I wasn’t pointing my lens up into the dim, overcast sky. Still, moments like that make the day feel magical. Nature always finds a way to surprise you when you least expect it.

Before heading home, I stopped by one of my favorite urban parks and ran into Goldie, one of the local grey squirrels I see often. She scampered up, as if to say, “You know the drill — portrait first, payment second.” I happily obliged, handing over a few seeds as thanks for another adorable photo.

I’m constantly amazed by the wildlife we can encounter right in our city parks. These spaces make it possible to connect with animals we might never otherwise see up close. Every encounter — whether it’s with a bird, a squirrel, or a curious mallard — builds a bridge of empathy and care. And that care ripples outward, inspiring people to protect not just these shared parks, but also the wildlife in their own backyards.

Most people I see out there do interact respectfully, and that gives me hope. Because connection — that spark between human and wild — is where conservation begins.

Lessons from Fall

Fall has a quiet wisdom to it. It reminds us that letting go is part of life’s rhythm — that rest, reflection, and release are just as essential as growth. Trees shed what no longer serves them, making space for renewal in spring.

Maybe that’s what draws me to the season so deeply. Each leaf that drifts to the ground feels like a gentle nudge to slow down, breathe, and trust the cycle — that even when things look bare, life is quietly preparing for something beautiful to return.

So, when the weather feels unpredictable, I go for a walk. Because nature always knows what to do — and she never fails to share a little wisdom along the way.