A perfect November day, bathed in warm light.
The trees, bare and beautiful, the lane calm and quiet.
A logging path among fallen leaves winds up the hill.
The big pond silent, just a few geese gathering in the distance.
Tree trunks reflected in the water.
A hillside in designer grey and beige and just a touch of gold.
Even the lawn mowers are silent now.
The quiet broken only by the cry of a bird and a rustling somewhere in the dappled shadows.
The goldenrod that swamped the late summer roadside still bravely stands to attention.
The evening light coming much too early since the clocks changed.
And on the other side of town the Allegheny River, probably looking much as it did centuries ago,
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