Creation
Sunday, November 2, 2008
In Skaneateles you can walk straight out to the end of the pier and stand above the world's cleanest body of water—stand there and look out and look through the pristine and the unsullied, the hints of emerald within the blue.
Yesterday there was still the bloom of lemon and cranberry leaves along the shore and a sedate crowd of white gulls on a single sun-warmed roof. There was the coming crisp of winter, the gaping grins of autumn's pumpkins. One season invested in the next.
There are days too beautiful to record. There is glint that can't be captured. Beauty like this leaves me gasping for words, struggling to stitch a single line of meaning.
