Frost got the garden last night: everything limped, curled, dimmed. Should have picked the green tomatoes. Today, the blue sky seems high and hard, low white clouds look different from last week�s clouds, as if made from something long-stranded and brittle, as if made from spun glass. They look like snow clouds, and perhaps they are, though it won�t snow here. Not yet.
On the bus the old Sikh man wears long tweed pants. A woman wears a beautiful cream and brown wool pashmina as a hijab. Fall.
