What you wish for too strongly
you shall not get. Let go of it. The shout of your wanting scares away that which you desire. Let go. You cannot see the coyote crossing the field by looking directly at it, only out of the corner of your eye. Let go.
It is the raw edge of the season. It is chilly, but not unbearable. Autumn rolls on in its insistent wind. We are more like wolves than bears.
Water-color clouds, darkly steel. Breaks reveal blue sky. Even so, gloom.
No frost on the wind shield.
Out in the country, the wind wants to blow the pick-up around. The clouds are rivers of sky. I'm in shadow. There is land in sun a mile to the west. A farmyard stands out bright. Now I'm in sun; now again, in shadow. The cloud cover comes apart, comes back together. I've never seen a sky quite like this.
Dry weeds in the fence-line are whipped this way and that. They are abused children with nowhere to hide. They dare not cry.
The dried stalks of flowers at Five Corners have been mowed off. That season is done.
In Ripon, snakes of leaves sidewind their way across Watson Street.
I love this one, Tom.
Posted by: Marja-Leena | October 24, 2005 at 06:43 AM