instructions from acorns
We were bemoaning the first chilly twinges of the season. Already,
so many leaves had dropped, having skipped those photogenic turns
made famous by Sunday drives and Yankee Magazine. Time seemed
to be running out. For what, exactly, we weren't sure, but we were clinging
nonetheless, our bodies tilted toward lukewarm sunlight.
Below, disrupting our footsteps: countless, anonymous acorns. It was easy
to think them a nuisance, or worse, a hazard; at first, we looked for a path
to avoid them entirely. But their thick, wide scatter made that impossible,
and the walk became slow and careful, and time fell silent, and our gaze softened,
and the acorns - fallen from grace - looked almost exactly like stars.