This morning the hard frost has arrived. What this means for people in Seattle is that it is not raining. The word “transfixion” was created for mornings such as this. There is a serious danger that I will do nothing for the rest of the day but sit on the porch in a quilt robe watching. A cat has it easy–it is their JOB to sit above the heat register on the windowsill and follow the leaves one by one, and no one thinks they are lazy or undermotivated.
In my backyard the sun comes through the last yellows of the plum and the maple, silhouetted against my neighbors’ giant firs. As the sun rises and warms the branches, one by one they let loose their leaves. They fall, like feathers, slowly, randomly, jubilantly, I wish I had such grace in letting go.
This study is from long ago, when I first discovered David Hockney and started sleeping with his complete works under my pillow.