Leaves play in the breeze, one last frolic before fertilizer. Their dance echoes each eddy and lays it out for all to see....air outlined in flying colors, samaras swirling and twirling in a seedy sort of swift ballet.
Blackbirds bolt north like compass needles, flock upon flock upon flock of them, bent on business, hurry, hurry.
Are they lost I wonder? They straggle by all morning, all headed north, all flying fast and furiously. I think maybe somebody on the other side of the river has a big corn field that has not been harvested yet.
Why else defy the natural scheme of things and fly in the wrong direction? If every one of them eats fifty kernels there is going to be a lot of corn heading south to roost this afternoon.
A spit of snow snarls across the sunshine, a curtain of smokey cloud cools the sky.
The wind is a tangible solid, scented with melted leaves, strong with the colding North, good to breath and bracing, but sharp with the threat of winter..
It is an exhilarating day, but shiverish and shaky.
The last time I was ready for winter I think I was about ten and had a pair of wooden skis with leather strap bindings we snagged out of the antique shop and wanted to try out. They were awful, btw ruining me forever for sports involving fluffy frozen water droplets and elevated places on the earth.
Nowadays the advance of adversity is given the treatment it deserves, respect and grudging acceptance, but not much joy.