I was outside for a little while this afternoon and things looked like autumn with the bare branches and the slightly browning leaves. The sky overhead was scattered with small white clouds and heavy gray-blue clouds occasionally spitting droplets. Other pedestrians were craning their necks up to look at the hodge-podge clouds, heedless of the stiff breeze blowing hair over their eyes.
I saw a particularly ominous cloud loom over a line of European pines (I know they're European because I overheard an old, blubbering biologist say with a bit of regret that nobody ever bothered to plant the native species) and I was suddenly struck with a fierce pang of longing for something that might never be.
I wanted to lie on the steep grassy knoll beside those pine trees and to just watch the clouds racing by. I'd stay there, even if it started raining in earnest. But I ended up hurrying back inside to do those bits of necessary things and spending five minutes typing this out so I don't forget.
