A Walk To The Farmers' Market In The Month Of November

My bounty. I got there late and the farmer consistently with the most produce had only pumpkins and parsnips left. The carrots I got at another stand, stunted ones, 2lb, $2. Apples, lots of apples. And cider. I also got porgies, which reminded me of my childhood fishing expeditions.

My street, facing Coney.


Scarlet supreme.


That proud oak on Albemarle.

This maple attracted me. Much is said about the strength of trees planted out in the open, yet their size and symmetry often disguises weakness. This one was probably damaged heavily in the tornado of 07, and now loses limbs in winds many trees could tolerate. A community of trees is quite protective, keeping winds at their tops, their thinner trunks and upright branches more flexible under heavy winds. While the beauty of that proud oak grown in the open is obvious, a more subtle beauty is present in a community of trees, swaying in concert, under the winds.

Red Japanese maple ever more red.


What's this, a blooming azalea on Westminster?


Felt a little strange, but I was compelled to enter a driveway of the residence to get closeups.


Damp, dark trunks and golden leaves.


Fruit loops.


With all the warm colors of autumn, this pale blue-green juniper simply lept at me.

Last Sunday, lifted, the raking low light, the saturation of color, the dampened bark of trees, the scent of carbon decay, the humid air of spring, I wore shorts and a jacket, on sidewalks stained with tannins, viewed grasses colored naturally by the season, sensual completely, emotionally charged connection to the world, in Brooklyn, on the streets, amongst houses and cars and people.

Late November and early December are the most Romantic months. Get out, on a moist day, enter the woods, the park, the shore, give in to it. Beautiful.