A Minute with Ira Joe
10.19.09| As I walked down the driveway from fetching the paper this autumn morn
the sky was iron gray and seeping its chill into the air and me. The
grand maple in our front yard has gone from green to gold to
bare-branched …in what seems like the blink of a barnswallow’s eye. The
leaves lay strewn and still on the leaning-into-sleep grass.
Categories: Ira Joe

