We walked on the asphalt road made all the more black by the recent rain, and we greeted a family heading the opposite direction. Our dogs sniffed each other, unsure. Even now, I smell the sweet scent of the soggy forest attempting to dry in the warmth of the emerging sun. Further along, we stopped to admire the changing leaves still stubbornly hanging on as if unwilling to admit that winter could be just as beautiful.
LATE OCTOBER
by Maya Angelou
Only lovers
see the fall
a signal end to endings
a gruffish gesture alerting
those who will not be alarmed
that we begin to stop
in order to begin
again.
