Falling still.

Tonight, a slow walk home through the rain: the end of the week is here, though the week is not over. My car key was in my hand by the time I realized that I had walked in this afternoon and thus would be walking back out. The weather holds at a fine point that makes such a realization pleasant rather than dreadful. But the rain: it's been falling for several days now, and soddenness starts to weary me more than I'd like. Fortunately, a lovely thing: we are having a yellow fall, mostly. The northernmost gingko in the line of three down the street from me is yellowing most swiftly; the maple in front of my house has already yellowed and gone bare; the maple that dwarfs my house's south side is losing its yellowed self bit by bit through the rain. But there are trees that, particularly now that they've been inundated, glow their yellow against their black branches' girding and tracing. They leave me staring, startled.