Eleventh

The house on the corner has sprouted what must be Christmas lights, unless Halloween lights have suddenly come into fashion and I missed the memo. The lights are orange, and thought some form a coniferous shape, nearby is a ball like a pumpkin. Perhaps Christmas and Halloween are to be merged, perhaps for economy, and December will find witches or ghosts delivering gifts of wax lips and candied apples. I hope not. The world seems strange enough as it is, given my muddled state of semi-illness.

I think maybe I have a low-grade fever tricking my brain into discovering what isn't. What I know is, is that some of the oak leaves have begun turning yellow, and others that have turned brown have strewn my ground. There's no choice but to crush them as I walk, unless I choose to stay put. That won't happen when virus and air conspire to make moving through the day irresistible.

It will never last, but the bright afternoon said nothing of the rain to come, and blue sky capped sweet air. Another October not yet like October. The jays chattered all evening until sunset drove them to sleep. How many times have I heard that before?


( Sunday Verse )