Tuesday, November 1, 2016


Quiet there save for the wind that sometimes came and rustled the leaves from the trees. There are places off the track, about five or ten minutes in, that people have not stepped on. Here some wild mushrooms and thick moss can be found. Surely the coyote runs through there on his way, or the scared and watchful deer. I have seen them both. The sky wanted to rain, and tried, but failed. The little drops came but could not persist. It was as if we were protected, for it did rain afterwards. The sandpit, large and oval where the dogs run so incredibly fast. The leaves, all colors, all colors that autumn presents anyhow. The old birch tree, thick but sad for its time has passed. A thousand other things besides. There is a marking where some worm or worm-type thing wove itself on a log. It is just a curving line, but it looks like something in that it gives the feeling for something. Could be auspicious. Or could be ominous. No, - it was good and well. - It was auspicious. I could sense it. And the tall trees that sprouted to the sky. The afternoon mist. The old man walking his dog, finishing his walk, or the young lad doing the same thing, - both finding their cars and leaving. The wind comes again, that wind a bit hot for the month. Quiet there save for that, which sometimes rustled those leaves from the trees and had them falling, paper thin artifacts, bits of a dream, before they found a place on the earth to lay down and really die.



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