Monday, November 7, 2016


I live in a place where you can hear the leaves falling.  They are at the beginning of the falling now--a few weeks late--and one leaf, as it lets go, taps and shushes down through the still-yellow tree, and lands on the ground with a little rustle.  Must be I have spent a lot of my life in noise up until now because I have never noticed this before, that it is possible to hear a leaf fall out of a tree.  So today, an incredible golden day, after startling a few times and wondering what the hell that sound was, I saw it happen and figured it out.  I went back there and lay on the ground underneath our big maple tree and gaped up through it at the blue sky, and the all-new clattering of leaves as they fall down.  I lay there until a woodpecker decided I was no big deal and went about his work in the tree.  Leaves fell around me, on me.  Nobody was mowing the grass, or plowing a field, or shouting or whacking weeds or playing soccer or doing any of the things people are generally noisily doing in my neighborhood.  We are pretty much tucked in, and yet, this day.  This day was a bonus, warm and perfect, and the sky!  There are not enough words for blue.  Catdog and I sat in the sunshine, and she sniffed at the air, and watched a crow fly over our heads, his cawing all out of place in the hot sunshine.  We listened to the leaves falling, a revelation.  I knit some plain stockinette in the round, in dusky lilac yarn and watched as the shadows came closer, so early.  They cast a chill across my bare feet long before either of us was ready to call it a day.