October 2024
It is the peak of fall. Not the peak of color, but the peak of sound and the peak of smell.
A few weeks ago the ground was patterned, the leaves of each tree pooled around it in fallen skirts of color: yellow here, orange there, reddish brown over there. Now they mix promiscuously, stirred into an impossible puzzle of divergent shapes. The downed leaves, their colors muted but not gone, rustle as I shuffle through them, a few shattering with each step. The smell of tannins fills the air. There is nothing like it.
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