by Nona Estrin
Now focus changes. The eyes adjust to a narrowed color spectrum, to the subtle gradations of color, and the punch of bright green as moss seems to be suddenly everywhere. The quality of low light touches our memory of all previous Novembers we have lived these cycles. Listen….an occasional chip note from a nearby tangle of brush, the stir of dry beech and oak leaves, still holding, until another spring will bring them down.