★★★★★ The trees and the bamboo shone white; white flared off the gate arm in the garage driveway and off the tops of the bollards. Warm sun and chilly air poised in balance. The sycamore leaves were beginning to turn brown. Along the edge of the sidewalk were line segments made of the fallen ones, mixed with litter and bright yellow leaves blown in from an unseen linden somewhere nearby. Noises carried piercingly: the grinding of balcony repair, an insistently backing up piece of heavy equipment, the whine of tires on the elevated highway. The lawn by the river, still unceded to the public by the developers, was dense and velvety. Old people in wheelchairs sat on the embankment, gazing west over the river.
Wednesday, September 18th, 2013