One response

  1. you too, went to kindergarten in Tarrytown, no HH sightings i’m afraid.

    We burned our leaves on the bluest October day,
    the sun still warm on our backs,
    frost just a ghost in the shrubbery.
    We raked the leaves into shifting piles on the lawn,
    scooped them into deep round baskets
    and spilled them in the street against the curb.
    The vein of fire, unseen at first in diamond light,
    whispered through oak leaves brown as butcher paper,
    and maple still flushed with color like maps
    torn from The Book of Knowledge.
    We were letting go of October, relinquishing color,
    readying ourselves for streets lacquered with ice,
    the town closed like a walnut, locked inside the cold.

    “Toward the Solstice” by Mark Perlberg

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