3.1 miles
trestle turn around
48 degrees
Ran with Scott around 3:30. Love that late afternoon fall light! Soft, with long shadows. Do I remember anything else?
10 Things
- lots of leaves on the path
- a woman bundled up with a winter cap and scarf
- a cute dog — small and brown
- the pungent smell of poop as I walked by a woman picking up after her dog
- feeling cold as the wind pushed up under my sleeves
- no stones stacked on the boulder
- the long, lean shadow of a tall tree cast on the road
- a quick glance down the wooden steps just past the trestle: bare branches
- pale yellow leaves on a tree near the lake street bridge
- a big crack and deep hole on the edge of the river road — that’ll pop a tire! (Scott)
And here’s part of a November poem I found in some notes for Haunts. It’s by A.R. Ammons, one my favorite poets:
Configuration/ A.R. Ammons
1
when November stripped
the shrub,
what stood
out
in revealed space was
a nest
hung
in essential limbs
2
how harmless truth is in cold weather to an empty nest
3
dry
leaves
in
the
bowl,
like wings
4
summer turned light into darkness and inside the shadeful shrub the secret worked itself to life
icicles and waterpanes:
recognitions:
at the bottom, knowledges and desertions
5
speech comes out,
a bleached form,
nest-like:
after the events of silence the flying away of silence into speech—
6
the nest is held
off-earthby sticks;
so, intelligence stays out of the ground
erect on a
brittle walk of bones:
otherwise the sea, empty of separations
7
leaves
like wings
in the Nov
ember nest:
wonder where the birds are now that were here:
wonder if the hawks missed them:
wonder if
dry wings
lie abandoned,
bodiless
this
November:
leaves— out of so many
a nestful missed the ground