The fading season — when all the trees have darkened but before the snow — I build a fire in the grate and find that unfinished book. The new morning chill draws me to the coffee pot. The fire still has warmth. Today’s sky is bright and clear, best spent walking the canyon. A fresh breeze picks up. Fallen leaves drift in the current like fishing boats heading out to fill their nets. They sail past the green heron. The November night dark and calm — not yet freezing. The Leonids pass flashing and fading in streaks of yellow among the stars.