sunday real life with rain and cold and broken camera in hand.
my neighbor's tree.
he was sitting in his car, warming it up for a donut run;
i just tapped on his window and pointed at the tree.
i don't have the magic to make the outside warmer. i open the door a few inches, enough for the cat to get through, but she just stands there and looks at me, then meows and walks away, headed for her spot in front of the fire, looking back at me over her shoulder as if i've failed her on some deep mama emotional level. it is only when i step outside that she chances it also, texas cat that she is. she followed me out this morning and when i glanced back over my shoulder from across the street, she was full of kitten, on her tiptoes, skittering sideways around the yard, but then fast back into the house when i returned.
the cold is here. serious autumn feels like winter. magnolia leaves drop to the ground, fluttering in the wind like fallen birds, and the camellia tree in the backyard next door is covered in white blossoms - at a glance it looks like snow. the tree on the corner has leaves that go red for a few hours and then brown. a short envelope of time to catch them. all the trees that drop their leaves are doing so, some more slowly than others, still changing colors, only letting go when the wind pushes hard against them. but, in the continuation of seasons, we still have honeysuckle blossoms and birdsong greeted me when i woke. everything smooshes together. the calendar is, after all, man-made.