saturday, everyone walking by on 37th was carrying coffee. one man held a pink dahlia in his other hand. it hadn’t been raining but the sidewalks were still wet; the fallen leaves were all stuck stems up.

sunday, it was early and still quiet. the leaves held small pools of water. the piles in the park that the other day were begging to be jumped in were now solid enough to stand on.

monday, gloomy and blustery. i had to give up on my umbrella because it couldn’t hold up to the abuse. one spine bent; i hate getting rain on my glasses. the wind blew down most of the remaining leaves, and some of the weaker trees it blew down entirely.