There were still a few muted bursts of orange, red and yellow clinging to skeletal branches. And as the cool winds stirred through the trees, it was as if they were whispering back and forth, conspiring against the fading sun to trap its warmth for a few extra moments.
It's as though I was being reminded of a time I've never truly known.
I didn't want to forget that feeling, that strange sense of longing. But memory is a fickle beast, so I chose to lend my faith to the certainties of modern technology.
Racing against the invading darkness, I tore through the house snatching up both Jellybean and the digital camera with equal delicacy and rushed back out into the yard before inspiration and daylight vanished.
Sure it was a little nippy, but that's why the good lord invented fleece baby hoodies. Besides, Jellybean's a gardener's daughter, which, granted isn't nearly as imposing as being a coal miner's daughter, but she ain't no sissy.
Aside from being a proud Papa, my need to preserve these moments is also part of my responsibility as chief editor of the Buckner Family blog.
The more pictures I take of Jellybean and The Diva, the less angry e-mails I receive from the scattered grandparents demanding to see documentation of every grin, eye-roll, wave and growth spurt. It's a demanding job, because one can kill a lot of computer memory on their combined cuteness, so sometimes Daddy's gotta get creative.
And this particular afternoon provided a spectacular backdrop.
It also gave me a new-found respect for baby photographers. There's a reason those dudes as Sears' portrait studio get the big bucks. Babies are deceptively quick for creatures with the basic motor skills of Silly Putty.
Soon as I'd plop Jellybean down beside the camellias or in front of the eucalyptus tree, she's rootin' around in the grass for something to gnaw on.
One would think that bark and dried leaves wouldn't be particularly tasty, even to such an inexperienced palate. But soon as I had her in position, she'd grab a stick and start inching it towards her mouth, looking at me like, "To heck with butterbeans and carrots. Give me rotted wood and dirt clods?"
Give a kid four teeth, and all of a sudden she's a goat.
For every picture that was in focus, nine others were blurry because at the last second, Jellybean was reaching around for another gnarly snack.
That or the dogs would get in the way.
Bonham, the skittish shelter dog who usually acts as if the camera will steal his soul, became Pamela Anderson posing for a centerfold -- all the while whacking Jellybean with his tail and ruining not only my shot but her good mood.
It's also important to sweep away all those doggie landmines that might sit within reach of a grabby baby. Nothing stabs the heart of a precious moment quite like shouting "Oh, God ... those aren't pine cones!" before sprinting back inside for Herculean squirts of hand-sanitizer -- both for me and Jellybean.
That's one picture we won't be showing Grandma.
About Brett Buckner: Brett Buckner is a features and entertainment writer for The Star.
To see more of The Anniston Star or to subscribe to the newspaper, go to http://www.annistonstar.com/. Copyright (c) 2008, The Anniston Star, Ala. Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services. For reprints, email tmsreprints@permissionsgroup.com, call 800-374-7985 or 847-635-6550, send a fax to 847-635-6968, or write to The Permissions Group Inc., 1247 Milwaukee Ave., Suite 303, Glenview, IL 60025, USA.

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