November 6th, 2005



The sky is a mottled, starless mass, and there is wind. Birds fail to call. I listen to the leaves drop. Now that the roses are gone, the deer have lost interest in this street. I have the place to myself, but don't know what to make of it. Last evening, I heard kids playing late games on some other block, long past dark. Then, the voices seemed more distant in time than in space, but that's been true for as long as I can remember. Maybe that's why I can pass through the world as though invisible. Someday I might catch up. Then what will I do?

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A band of clear sky let late sun wash the valley, then flow up the mountainside to illuminate the ponderosas. The dull brown needles mixed among the green this time of year kindled to red gold, so bright that the forest seemed to be glowing from within for a few minutes. The sight was especially impressive seen against the tumbling gray mass of clouds which still filled most of the sky. I didn't even bother to watch the sunset itself until the light had entirely left the treetops. By then, the western horizon was no more than a bright line squeezed between dark earth and silver-edged clouds. The main event didn't compare with the side show.