It's Labor Day. The high was 73 and it's raining. Can't go running. In June, the end of spring felt like summer already. I wanted it. Now, the end of summer feels like fall already. Two weeks ago on a run the wind blew through a tall stand of wild cherry trees and hundreds of yellow leaves fell seventy feet sideways across a curve in the road. I stopped and stared. It was cloudy. It was a sunset I couldn't see for the woods looming in the west. Warm sweat started to pool on my forehead, and I may have wiped it away with the bottom of my shirt. The wind made the leaves sound like a stream, and I remembered the time I almost lost myself in different woods following phantom water. The fallen leaves were so yellow against the dark green undergrowth and the brown mud trail I knew lead towards the real stream. Yellow meant summer was leaving, even though all the other trees were still green, still holding their leaves tight to brown branches. Those falling leaves were beautiful. I started running again, down towards them.
|Birches. Not the same as wild cherry, but still beautiful.|
I found something I want. I want to read Junot Diaz's This Is How You Lose Her. It comes out 9/11.
Still think of Bud, but not so sad lately. New season?