rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Sunday Night

The days have grown sufficiently chilly, that many local residents whose dwellings lack more modern heating are firing up their wood stoves and fireplaces. Clouds of smoke curl from chimneys and the scent of it drifts along the leaf-strewn streets. In the field of brown grass near the edge of the oak wood, gold in the afternoon light, I saw a group of children playing in a now-leafless tree, and heard their voices vanishing into a sky covered with cloud the color of brushed aluminum seen through a thin layer of watery milk. Along a path where my footsteps were muffled by the dense, springy layer of pine needles, I listened to the squirrels barking in the trees. In a yard on the last street at the edge of town, I saw an odd site. It is a young maple tree, a few of its leaves turning yellow, but the rest of them still as green as they were in spring. Surrounded by the tatters of autumn, this one tree, of all its kind, seems unwilling to let the summer go. I wonder how long it will be able to hold out?

Tonight, I'm hoping that the deer will come up the street early, while the moon is still in the east. Recently, they have come by late, when the light has already left the far side of the street in shadow, and the brightness falling on my face dazzles my eyes. At that hour, I can hear their faint hooves, but their soft grey shapes are merely a suggestion of movement in the night. Soon, all the flowers will be gone for the winter, and the visits of the deer will become less frequent. I'm expecting them to raid the bed of pansies along my driveway sometime in the next few nights. I hope they don't sneak by when I'm not looking.

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