21 Days From My Window
Outside my window this morning the autumn wind marches right down the street in a grand farewell parade. The patch of pampas grass waves its arms in delight, and the red, white and blue flag flaps and flutters in merriment. Spinning like pinwheels in the morning air, the leaves on the twin Bradford pear trees have changed again, from green and dark red to a warm orange shade that matches the brick of the two houses standing proudly in the background. The great tree that looms over these houses has turned from yellow-green, to a warm honey---one last burst of autumn color for this festive celebration.
The trees toss handfuls of orange leaves into the air like confetti. They are caught by the wind as he continues his procession past my window, and they chase each other along the curbside like happy children. Scudding across the blue sky, white clouds look like great billowy cotton-candy floats. A dozen or more sparrows dart back and forth in front of my window, like a troupe of aerial acrobats. They flit and twist, narrowly missing the corner of my neighbor’s roof. Lighting on the high wire, they enjoy a brief rest before they jump and tumble again through the air overhead.
The morning sun smiles brightly down upon the street, lending her warmth and cheer to the carnival spirit that passes by my window. All too quickly, the parade has ended, and the neighborhood grows quiet, save for a great group of leaves. They chase each other down the neighbor’s driveway, like a pack of unruly teenagers trying to catch the end of Autumn’s final hurrah.
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