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where autumn leaves or none or few do hang

November 24, 2007

I aspire to be like Abigail Adams: to quote widely from memory, often incorrectly.

It’s getting wintry. Maybe into the 30s at night. The morning was still sunny, but lots of clouds, and the light is thinner; paler.

Every Fall for the last decade or so, I’ve noticed how golden the light is here. From the afternoon into the evening, the long long shining sunset. It must have always been this way—why have I noticed it so much more, recently? Partly because we have more trees here now, I guess. Also, many of the years in the past, I was indoors: at school, at work, driving. You see it, but you don’t feel it all around you in the same way.

Walking downtown before 9:00 A.M. I saw four police cars. It’s barely two miles. A couple of them driving up A Street a few minutes apart, and a pair of them stopped on D Street, shaking down some poor guy on a bicycle, searching his shoes and pockets. They seemed to be treating him respectfully otherwise, however.

Too much police presence, and it stops feeling safe. It starts to feel threatening.

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