The day after Thanksgiving involved pie for breakfast. Later, I dragged the three of us to the park. A brisk mid-afternoon walk, this time of year, quickly becomes a sunset walk.
Drummers' Grove stood empty.
Oak leaves piled up against the Oriental Pavilion.
Seed structures everywhere...in readiness for dispersal, death and rebirth.
We drank coffee on the Boathouse steps as the sun sank behind the trees.
Good Lord, Advent starts tomorrow...just in time to ease the heart as the shadows stretch their longest.
I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.
The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman,
the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.
The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things
come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go,
not one lasts.
Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg