Stranger Light

What a strange fall it’s been. The light has been… queasy. I don’t know if that makes much sense, but I do know I’m not about to explain it. I know what I mean. On a recent afternoon, before the world went cold so late in the season, I stood outside as dusk descended. The last light of the day lit up the clouds in shades of amber and salmon and mauve. Slivers of lavender ran through the filament of the sky. The raw and random outlines of weathered pine trees stood silhouetted by the dying sun.

It had been a rainy day, but before the light went to sleep it would have its moment. Raindrops fell from the tips of leaves still confused by the extended warm weather. The spiky seedpods of an enormous castor bean plant looked even more ominous as light continued to drain from the day. I quickly clipped a few of the ones that had dried to a dark brown. They’d already begun splitting and spitting out their seeds, so I hastened indoors to save some of the precious cargo.

That’s the other part of fall – saving things for the future. Putting stock in what will come up next year.

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