Fall in Minnesota
The air flirts with passers-by, standing hair upright and blowing out dress shirts like a cartoon explosion, as if sudden weight gain threatened to pop buttons.
Where trees last week lazed, wilting, humid, they now reach toward the sky as if dancing. Branch ends wiggle like the toes of a suddenly naked young child, reaching towards a beloved parent's face, smiling, the infectious burble that only a baby can produce.
Where trees last week lazed, wilting, humid, they now reach toward the sky as if dancing. Branch ends wiggle like the toes of a suddenly naked young child, reaching towards a beloved parent's face, smiling, the infectious burble that only a baby can produce.