11/9/25 7:00 36F (2.2C) Cool, calm, and clear.

The sky is blue, rimmed with pink.

The moon, still three-quarters full, drops towards the west, slipping behind the oaks.

The maple looks almost  skeletal, its leaves covering the ground below.

But leaves still cling to one trunk, a streak of yellow. A brave futility in defiant contrast to the naked limbs surrounding it.

Yet another leaf surrenders, drifting to earth and coming to rest with a faint rattle.

Birds sing the season to sleep. Oblivious,  Walter continues to bark.

Counterwop biscuits and birch bolete gravy topped with a fresh egg over easy and Chupacabra sauce, washed down with Red Rose tea and local apple cider. Good morning.