The leaves made their change from green to fire-yellow, and now they begin to fizzle under the steady autumn rain. A foggy mist hangs near the river's edge, promising to also turn with the seasons from water to ice. The day is still, but I feel the earth moving beneath my feet, imperceptibly spinning toward the next phase of the endless cycle of life.
How's that for poetry?
This angel watches over my mother's front yard.
The Spokane River.
Another view of the Spokane River.