It wasn’t so windy that it prompted thoughts of returning home, but enough to stir up some drama, and the drama was all about the cascade of leaves — the hue of griddle cakes, most of ’em, amassing on the ground in glorious piles after tumbling from high up on Fremont cottonwood trees — older ones, their heights exceeding two-story town homes. The trees also cast their shimmery reflections across the lakes and adorned the ground with what looked like coins and gems from a shipwreck’s treasure chest.
With all that yellow, the sun couldn’t help but look buttery. Dare I use the word “dapple” here to describe how the light scattered its rays about and filtered through the leaves and branches? Continue reading The scene where the story has a made a wonderful turn