Took a break and rode out for an errand. Down by the river, trees naked gray their hair fell out with autumn chemotherapy, revival and survival. Leaves in golden curls on grass no longer green. Centuries of mowings, leaves, and people turned to earth.
Odd Sunday morning driving seeing all I pass thought: Is New England higher now then what it was before, absorbing, growing every passing year I pass?
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology