Things are mighty quiet back here after the raucous cacophony of horns, voices, laughter, music, life I left in New York City last week.
But here is where the wind lives, the popping of fall grasshoppers into bushes as you go by, the scraping of gravel underfoot, the crack of a raven’s call as it splits the air, the whine of puppies muffled under covers.
And here is where early morning storms roll in – their heavy hats of grey like reverse-umbrellas, dripping at you on the stoop, but not ten feet further once you’ve left their shelter – leaving bright slashes of rainbows to mark where they’ve been once they’ve gone.
New York photos are coming, but their sheer magnitude in effect, quantity, and feeling will mean a wait.
Je vous aime tous.
Be well.
– Coon