There's a raw chill in the air,
the sun is hazy and distant,
the
wind howls in the bare tree branches
and whips across your face
and
through your clothes.
But not today.
Walking in the mountains
on a
relatively mild day,
the world seems to hold its breath
as the Earth teeters on the brink
at its maximum distance
from the magnetic pull
of old Sol.
Here there is no tinsel
or jingling bells;
the riotous
reds and mellow yellows of fall
have fallen in heaps of dried browns
and grays;
a few spiky stalks of pampas grass
stand determinedly
against a leaden sky
and the watery sparkles of a cloud-dimmed sun.
A
banana
seems especially sweet
out of doors
on a winter
afternoon.
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