autumn

The living room has 13 windows and a glass door so it's the perfect place to sit, just sit, and look. I haven't seen a winter here yet, haven't seen a snow storm. When we moved in during the summer it was all green, everywhere, with a flowering dogwood tree, pink and white petals drooping lazily in the heat.

The windows are a picture frame. The autumn is spectacular and today's no exception. The sky is soft shades of white and gray, charcoal smudges on a muted canvas. One large tree—oak—stretches its branches over six windows and the leaves haven't yet fallen. They're gold, touches of green. It's just rained and the rain came horizontally, lashing through the leaves. It's stopped and the windows are speckled with droplets. Inside it's warm, comfortable, Kona coffee that I'm drinking black because I'm out of milk. Outside it looks balmy, low 60s, unnaturally warm for a mid-November day.