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Notes from the pond
27 October — clear and cold, a light wind from the west.
The canopy over the north bank has begun to thin. The maples went first, their leaves turning like small flames on the water. I can see sky through branches that were once entirely green.
The pond is low and very still. A skin of fallen leaves drifts toward the outflow, the oaks riding highest, cupped like small boats.
By December it will be the last thing on the surface, held in the first ice like a pressed page, until the thaw comes and the whole pond turns over again.
