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Driving north on I-83 in the sunny November afternoon, I watched through my sunglasses as the wind flirted with the fiery orange foliage framing the highway.

“Look at those beautiful leaves!” I said, admiring the contrast of the sky’s clear, sharp blue against the red maples. “We should be outside today, not driving. It’s too beautiful,” I told my husband, who was in the passenger seat.

He looked at me blankly.

“Don’t you think the leaves are gorgeous?” I asked, surprised at his noncommittal response.

I peered over the top of my tinted sunglasses. The trees became a craft-paper brown, a forest of monotony. The sky was the color of faded blue cambric.

“Try it with the glasses,” I said, passing them to my husband.

He slipped on my $5 plastic shades and gazed out the window.

“You have a real pair of rose-colored glasses,” he chuckled.

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