Honey Jar Today is fall. Cold leaves cross the macadam in swirls. My throat is sore from the dry warm air newly starting out of grills in my walls at night when the temperature outside sometimes causes frost. So I make tea. My tea boxes and the granules coating the sides of the plastic honey container are fall. Missing you all the way in Connecticut is fall. I love to dress up for Halloween, but somehow dissipated attention to the things more childlike cause me to continue my work and save the frolicking in nighttime leaf piles for next year. Raking leaves is fall. A work I no longer do here in this city, Which reminds me of home and Dad alone with four huge Maples, Golden yellow falling all at once. He's a bad back, but he'll still rake them. I sip my tea and think how the water outside has grown cold how the rain will freeze and in a few weeks I'll be writing you about winter. Then I will scrape away those last grains of honey and lick them from my finger and buy a new bottle from Wegmans.