How odd the towering beech looks. Outside the leaves are so dark as to be indeterminant in color, and inside they are bright as gold.
As I walk by in the twilight, a rabbit is sitting bolt upright on the side path, near the neighbor's steps. It does not twitch. Then I walk back when it has moved closer to the path, crouching on the ground, and this time it bolts for cover.
Leaves fall. Trees stand, bare branches or with one or two adorned, over a carpet of gold; burning bushes, over a carpet of red -- and white, where the petals bleached. The garden has red leaves like flowers over its greenery.
The valley is all grayish brown branches set here and there with oaks in the most somber of golds.
The pink blooms. After two killing frosts. A single bloom, which is, indeed, pink.
A cloudless day has a few low clouds if I look with great care near the western horizon. Otherwise, all, all, all blue.
Whitecaps on the road. It's not even very wet, with the heavy rain being earlier, but it is ever so windy.
The hills are shadowed nearer to me, but the farthest ones visible in the east are fiery from the sunset light.
The bellflower finally, after several frosts, gives up the blossom. But the million bells and the pansy in the corner between the steps and the wall bloom on. And a glance over the ice plant at first sees fallen burning bush leaves, but a closer look shows the fiesta bright flowers. It has not bloomed for all the rest of the fall.
Winter rolls in with a snowstorm. And cold. Felt a bit sad on thinking there were new snapdragon buds to be blighted, but looked again -- they were seed pods on careful inspection. Garden was green for much of December -- and now it is white.
Most of the cars are covered with white hummocks of snow. One -- well, the wind blew over it and dumped all the snow solely on the leeward side, and then the sun shone, the car heated, and all the snow fell off.