August wanes. Tucked among skyline branches and the wild tangles of roadside ditch thickets are patches of prescient leaves bold enough to prophesy impending end times. The last days of the deciduous.
I stare deep into a puddle full of autumn and feel her gazing back at me. There she is. Floating just above the cracked pavement. Drawn in glistening sunlight on the surface of fresh-fallen rainwater. At the center of a psychedelic-technicolor landscape vividly alive with the fiery hues of October’s fresh death.
