November 14th, 2010

caillebotte_man at his window

Hoard

The dogwoods had barely turned red when the cold and rainy week came, and then the wind stripped the branches of most of their leaves. They now lie strewn, giving the ground the ghost of that color for which Sunday afternoon's blue sky would have been the perfect backdrop. Passing cars have powdered those leaves which fell into the street, and the gray pavement now appears to wear a diaphanous veil of pink.

Elsewhere along the block the color has peaked and begun to fade, too, so much of it was scattered by the winds. But tonight the air is still, and the serene moon has settled among the pines. The trees' shadows have become November lace again. It will not last, nor will the mildness of this air. Soon the nights will be all bare trees and chill. December lurks, and can't be put off for long. Tonight I'll take an autumn walk, and store memories of it the way the woodpeckers are storing nuts. Then I'll have something to crack open by a warm fire a month or two hence. I suspect I'll need it.


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