The sky was gray, almost white. Dismal and perfect at the same time. The air was cool and chilly, and the birds were noisy, busy doing whatever birds do in the afternoon. Fluttering around in the bushes now, not high in the trees like they were in the summer.
Every bit of my surroundings shouted (very quietly) ‘late November’.
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The greens were subdued. Weathered by a summer’s worth of sun. Pockets of real color … gold … orange … rust … red … clustered in the branches above and gathered along the walkway. But the gentle yellows called quietly. Ahh … the soft, subtle yellows, practically sighed.