One bright day
Dec. 5th, 2001 05:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphSome years, L.A.'s weather comes this far north. Some years, Seattle's weather comes this far south. So far, this year looks a lot like Seattle. I wonder if Seattle will get Juneau's weather?
But today- well, yesterday, now- the sunlight was un-pent. I went for a walk in the afternoon, the sun warming my back as it warmed (but slightly) the clear air. The telephone poles are now largely released from the covering foliage of the deciduous trees, which makes them seem larger, except where they are close to the ponderosas, which tower over them. A few of the oaks retain enough leaves to make a fluttering sound in the breeze, like the rustling of pages in a library. The trees beyond the field behind the apple orchard are now entirely bare, and, in the distance, their intricate tracery of twigs and branches seems as insubstantial as the plumes of smoke rising from chimneys.
Turning at the top of the last ridge, I looked back across the broad vale toward the distant woodland concealing the town, and was dazzled by the brightness of the sun. In this state, the place seemed to me less like the mundane conglomeration of suburban American houses that it is, and, with the help of a bit of imagination, I could see it as it might have been, had the twentieth century not intervened. Some other world might exist here someday, but for now, I depend on tricks of sense to open my thoughts to such possibilities. Thanks, sun. Dazzle me again, soon.
But today- well, yesterday, now- the sunlight was un-pent. I went for a walk in the afternoon, the sun warming my back as it warmed (but slightly) the clear air. The telephone poles are now largely released from the covering foliage of the deciduous trees, which makes them seem larger, except where they are close to the ponderosas, which tower over them. A few of the oaks retain enough leaves to make a fluttering sound in the breeze, like the rustling of pages in a library. The trees beyond the field behind the apple orchard are now entirely bare, and, in the distance, their intricate tracery of twigs and branches seems as insubstantial as the plumes of smoke rising from chimneys.
Turning at the top of the last ridge, I looked back across the broad vale toward the distant woodland concealing the town, and was dazzled by the brightness of the sun. In this state, the place seemed to me less like the mundane conglomeration of suburban American houses that it is, and, with the help of a bit of imagination, I could see it as it might have been, had the twentieth century not intervened. Some other world might exist here someday, but for now, I depend on tricks of sense to open my thoughts to such possibilities. Thanks, sun. Dazzle me again, soon.
