At a certain point in time, things that once look gorgeous and sublime begin to show their cracks. Red leaves, once they hit the pavement, often look... brown. And that’s okay. Cracks are normal. Crevices are to be expected. Brown is a variant of red.
My older daughter is visiting this week and I took her to the old neighborhood, the place of her childhood.
I have been back in recent weeks a number of times. For no good reason. I don’t stop, I do not talk to friends and neighbors, I just drive by and, well, marvel at the way wheels spin.
Tonight we note that this west side spot has a microclimate – it hangs on to the cold. Sure enough, the fallen leaves haven’t the glory of Connecticut’s blushing bunch. Brown, wilted, they rest in heaps at the curb. The amazing thing is that here, not anywhere else in town, just here, they are covered with snow.