"when the trees bow down their heads"

the world, golden, has begun to fall in a flutter down and around us. happily, it is not yet cold enough to prefer the indoor life so we walk and kick our way down the bricks, around the yard, the neighbors' yards.



in the gray of this morning's rain we are still flushed with orange, gold, unstoppable autumn.



jude is sick, a fever, crying out over the wretchedness of his teeth. he sleeps early this morning, his fuzzing head peeking out from the comforter, the quilt. the front tree is like a gigantic ball of sun, closing in on the window, blazing, breezing, empowered by the water, the sky. and still jude sleeps, sleeping off his woe.



the rain brings on my favorite weather. when i had a child who began to run, who needed sun and grass to suck his never-ending energy from him, i reevaluated this rain love of mine. but i prefer it still, it's black and green wash is cleansing. i feel dark and know more about secrets, i can see more clearly, when water falls from the gray billows into pools sending a hundred concentric circles ringing for each droplet in each puddle that grows in the cracks and dips of the sidewalk.



who has seen the wind? neither you nor i.