November has come to the forest,
To the meadows where we picked the cyclamen.
The year fades with the white frost
On the brown sedge in the hazy meadows,
Where the deer tracks were black in the morning.
Ice forms in the shadows..
The yellow maple leaves eddy above them,
The glittering leaves of the cottonwood,
The olive, velvety alder leaves,
The scarlet dogwood leaves,
Most poignant of all.
In the afternoon thin blades of cloud
Move over the mountains;
The storm clouds follow them;
Fine rain falls without wind.
The forest is filled with wet resonant silence..Excerpt K Rexroth
North of the city, as the last of the leaves drift lazily to the forest floor, the first snow flakes begin to appear between the trees…soon all the rich golds heaps will be covered with a blanket of white…"the forest is filled with resonant silence ..Watercolour on Arches Not Paper..