The Difference a Rainy Day Makes

Ah, the color of memories.

Remember the warm rosy glow of those lingering Summer twilights?

Well, there’s a new ray of light in town.

Last weekend I bundled up and bustled out to the local stately mansion (the deserted old manor house of the renowned American man of lettres, William Cullen  Bryant) to catch the very last gasp of Autumn.

Instead of a warm rosey glow, there was only a wan pearly greyness. The color that flooded the eyes didn’t come from the light:

I need this infusion o fjoie to my vivre. I’ve had one of those weeks. The kind of week when you have a small package that you need to take to the post office on Monday, and it takes you until Thursday to get there.

It’s been one of those  weeks when the news is even more depressing than usual. The cops raided Occupy Wall Street in the middle off the night and trashed the whole enterprise, including the OWS Library. What a dick move, NYPD.

It’s been the week that I noticed that the Japanese Dogwood tree in the backyard was hitting its peak Fall leafage.

And then, the next day, it rained, the kind of November rain that wipes out the peak Fall leafage all around the world, and our dogwood tree looked like this:

Good-bye, Fall of 2011.