Farther up the street are two large oaks which cling tenaciously to many of their dead, brown leaves. Even a slight breeze sets up a dry rustling which can be heard for a few hundred feet.
The fallen pine needles along the streets are broken down to a dense powder which has turned a deep gold from the dampness remaining from the recent rains.
The long grasses of summer, now brown and grey, lie across the short green winter grasses and lichens in the fields. The colors are oddly pleasing.
On the porch of a house, a disused skateboard leans against the wall, next to the front door.
Some guy was using an arc welder in his garage. The crack and fizzle reminded me of a streetcar trolley tracking across the wires at a junction of two lines. A faint smell of ozone in the cool winter air of the overcast day.