NOVEMBER MOURNING

A November wind swirls the last leaves on the sidewalk in front of my house: ruffle-edged, yellow gingkoes and pointy red maples. Cooper and Reilly–the neighborhood Labrador twosome–bark to herald me from their corner yard. I pass by with my ragamuffin dog Tati who points her nose into the wind blowing down from Alaska, so they say. I pull my cap tighter. I wonder if my life-long walking friend Linda knows–wherever she has gone in her next life–whether Linda knows that an unseasonable cold has settled in this November.

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