Yellow and Brown and Red

The woods were burnt orange. Mostly. There was yellow and there was brown and there was red. But they were white noise. They were a backdrop.

It was a shortcut through the woods that took a half an hour longer. The woods were covered in dead leaves, so when the deer couldn’t be seen, they could be heard.

The air was crisp but the sun was warm and there was a rock in the middle of the creek. A big one that was easy to get to. So sitting was only natural.

A phone rang.

“Where are you?”

“The park.”

“That park is disgusting. What are you doing?”

“Sitting.”

“Isn’t there a lot of trash?”

“There’s some.” Mostly the park was sun glistening on rippling water moving in flowing bends, but, if one cared to look, there were plastic bags in most of the trees.

“And the creek always smells like sewage when it hasn’t rained for a while.”

“A little.” It hadn’t rained for a while, and it did smell like sewage.

“Alright, well, come back. It’s empty here.”

“OK.”

And, as the day wore on, the leaves fell like light. Like falling would cover the dark.

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