After a rainy night, woke to this outside my kitchen window.
“What Else” by Carolyn Locke
The way the trees empty themselves of leaves, let drop their ponderous fruit, the way the turtle abandons the sun-warmed log, the way even the late-blooming aster succumbs to the power of frost—
this is not a new story. Still, on this morning, the hollowness of the season startles, filling the rooms of your house, filling the world with impossible light, improbable hope.
And so, what else can you do but let yourself be broken and emptied? What else is there but waiting in the autumn sun?
Fun lights at a Mediterranean cafe where I hung out while getting two new tires on my car. Grateful to have that done and to find out that the awful noise I've been hearing is my alternator going out. Next week's task!