Sunday, November 9, 2025, 29.5*, 95% RH, 0633
Soleil settles orange skirts across the eastern sky as if she intends to stay. She turns treetops red, hurries away. Zsolt races to see if there’s anything to bark, remains quiet. One step closer to the railing, slippery. Time to be careful of frosted mornings. Steam has stopped rising from my cup. We can see our breath. Through the trees violet blue sky, bands of white.
Is this November’s flag waving?
Photo: LJ Austin
