November 01, 2016


My favorite street with the picket fence

The rains have come; the first of this year. They hale the end of the Indian Summer.

The rain always comes rolling in from the sea. It starts with the wind picking up, slowly at first, but soon it turns into gusts of wind, and sand and debris from the past 8 dry months are whipped through the street. I like that moment, just before the rain rolls in. It is usually very early in the morning when the wind picks up. I am on the street, and you have to squint against the wind, as you are pummeled by city dust. You hear doors slam left and right in apartments and buildings, as people are still used to the summer season, and all the windows are open.

The walnut trees in the park are losing their leaves

Plastic bags fly through the air like lost balloons, and sometimes bits of laundry soar around as well: someone forgot to bring in the laundry the night before, and no clothes pin can stand this force. And then, just as I enter my house again, the rain starts.
I like the rain.
Very conveniently the clock has advanced an hour, and so now it is dark when I come home from work. Fits with the season.

The Virginia Creeper is fabulously colored. Indian Summer is over though.

And it seems we have a president. It took a good two and a half years. 
While driving to Beirut yesterday, my daughter and I got caught in the orange traffic jam surrounded the whole process.

"Are they going to blow this guy up?" she asked.
"Well, the last few survived the job, so it is safe to assume this one will too."
I think I would make a very good president," she adds.
"You can't be president," I reply.
"Why not?"
"You've got the wrong religion."
"No, you must be a christian."
"I celebrate Christmas and Easter. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Poplar tree lanes

Not in this country it does. And so I leave you with the last fall pictures up in the mountains.

Late night walk in the park . We were lucky there was electricity. Impossible to walk here in the dark.


Benny said...
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