Along Spring Creek: November's Gold
There was a fine mist in the morning when I left for work, and I thought I might like to see it over Spring Creek. Alas, when I got there, the mist had risen and gone, but there were still plenty of fine things to see. Like the water winding its way down the spillway, and the bareness of the trees.
And that bit of gold right there in the grasses. I liked the way they looked, but let me tell you how they sounded too: brittle and raspy, like an old voice whispering some grand truth into the morning; but quietly, so you never really get to hear the words.
For a golden scene, here is a tune from Gord's Gold, by Gordon Lightfoot, which is one of my favorite albums. Who knows the wherefore and the why?