Unseasonal warmth has bred strong wind, inciting the jagged tree fingers to admonish those not enjoying the fleeting pleasure of Summer’s death-rattle . Packs of leaves rush across cracked pavement, tumbling over one another like excited puppies chasing tufts of grass.
The sun sets over the highway marsh. Faded yellow signs protect it as Not Yours but provide only small comfort to the deer skirting its edges. There is one week left in hunting season.