Leaf Fall

 

October 22, 2020

First experience of singing through a mask. Less remarkable than one would have thought.

Wrote some by the river– a lot, now that I think of it– then drove to the Parkway and walked high up on the Hard Times trail. On such a fine day I knew I would not be alone, and I wasn’t. It was dog day, dogs walking or jogging with their masters, and one observed personalities among them as varied and often more evident than their masters’–those that trotted obediently, even fearfully by their masters’s side, those who  had to be restrained (who wanted them to be?) from pulling away and investigating the new person, those allowed to trot on over and allow themselves to be petted. One especially elegant white dog with blue eyes padded over, sniffed, allowed her fur to be ruffled, then went on. When she and her mistress returned the other way, the dog nodded, as if to say, “It was nice to meet you, but let’s not make a big thing out of it.” Watched an iridescent blue beetle make his way among the fallen leaves. In times of silence, there was no silence, but a perpetual whisper, like to rain, but rather the falling of a million leaves against a million leaves.