The Apostrophe Blog
And even the mottled, somewhat raggedy witch hazel leaves become a yellow luminescence against the afternoon and its celebration of sky-blue sky. A day to walk, observe, look up, celebrate the riot of color of the so many neighborhood shrubs and trees. A day to rake more fallen browning leaves, to sweep, to wait for the finches and bushtits to arrive for their before dinner dip in the burbling dahlia fountain out back. When it is this bright, it is hard to remember yesterday and its sheets of wet and bleak. When it is this bright, it is hard to believe that in 120 minutes—give or take a few—the light will be gone from my patch of earth once again. I am heading back out to see what will continue to stun and amaze. November, the day after assorted elections when sanity continued to prevail and a glimmering of optimism returns.