November 7th, 2004

caillebotte_man at his window


Advancing, night brings the crescent moon, too thin to dim any but the lesser stars. The constellations remain complete, until approaching dawn brings cerulean light that restores detail to the eastern trees. These emerge as Orion fades, the last constellation to vanish. Eastward, Venus and Jupiter are caught in an oak, still gleaming for a while.

While the birds are yet silent, and the growing light has banished the moonlight's shadows, I listen to the faint sound of a brief, soft breeze, and then a shower of leaves that were unable to withstand even this slight stirring of the air. It is like the sound of old paper being crumpled in some room down a hallway of an old and otherwise silent house.

I do not wait to hear the woodpeckers wake, but carry the thought of the leaves' surrender back to my room, and let the chattering day take its course.

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Two more mild days, and then rain.


Unexpected, hazy clouds formed, and brought a burnished gold sky to afternoon. All the golden leaves grew more intense by its light. Overnight, the back yard has been carpeted with big, gold walnut leaves. Gold rains from the oaks with each breeze. There is gold everywhere. But tonight there is no silver. The clouds have hidden all the stars, and the moon has not yet risen. I still hear the leaves flutter as they fall, filling the darkness with dry whispers.