Yesterday, the wind was fierce all day. No, the temperature wasn’t cold. No, we didn’t have rain. Yes, we had clouds and wind. Lots of wind. I swept leaves from my deck but it did little good. Either they returned again because they are so fond of my deck, or some more turned loose from the willow oak and maple and blew in to join their friends.
Instead of staying inside, out of the murky day, I took a short drive to be a part of it, or at least meet it on its own terms. I stopped by Matt and Dawn’s house. Their lawn, like mine, is carpeted with layers of summer’s leafy offerings, now lying dejected and crisp. Except here and there. Sometimes, a leaf that retained its brightness lights up the overall dun color. And then, just a little farther over, I snapped a picture of a small barn. This is not the best angle but I didn’t park and walk around on private property to get a better angle. One beautiful, ancient barn has already succumbed to the Expressway and I’m afraid this one will follow. When these old barns are gone, they are gone forever. Nobody is building them like this any more.
Coming back home, I worked on some Thanksgiving cards with colored pencils. And, of course, wrote on the third Ned McNeil cozy mystery. It was a murky, windy day, neither hot nor cold, but certainly not sunny. So, Nemo and I accepted it and did what we could to make it through in good humor.
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