Harvest Figure

It's a gray sky this morning and it makes the colorful trees seem even brighter. My bread dough rose slowly overnight and has been shaped into four oblong loaves and set to rise under a kitchen towel. Lily and I walked through Oak Hill Cemetery for the first time in months. There are acorns everywhere. Walking over them is like roller skating. The hydrangea blossoms throughout the cemetery resemble the heads of sheep. They were big and white in the summer, but now they are rose-colored, and the hydrangea leaves have partly turned from green to yellow. This annual rose-green-yellow color clash makes me laugh.

The neighborhood is crisp and quiet. The window screens are in various undecided states. The outdoor potted plants have been hit with frost. Pumpkins are optimistically perched on people's porches. Yesterday I saw an authentic home-made pumpkin-head harvest figure on my urban street. He slumped on his stoop beside the front door. I admired the simple hand-carved pumpkin-head, and was envious of his pristine black jeans and navy cotton sweatshirt.