I haven't once mentioned The Fall. Which is a selfish disservice to this place. Connecticut. The North. Where I live now.

I watched out the window the other day as leaves of so many cuts and colors -reds and purples and greens and yellows and oranges- flipped and fluttered down like feathers for twenty minutes. They fell non-stop, like fruit-colored snowflakes.

I walked a park yesterday and could hardly hear voices over the shuffle and crunch of the leaves. They're on cars, and in cars, and in girls' hair. It's movie stuff, a place so pretty. A place where all the leaves fall.