05 October 2008

Autumnal

A house finch lands to drink from the dog water bowl on the porch. It looks in the sliding glass door, dips its beak into the bowl, looks back into the house. I catch its eye. It flies off. A flurrying of small brown bodies alights, shifts, moves into the trees.

The leaves are starting to fall. Walking the dogs comes with the sound of brittle leaves beneath your feet.

Angle of sun on your face, the sky cloudless--

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