for hints, all over town, that fall is coming: for the stout, glossy acorns scattered on the sidewalk, the reddening leaves on the dogwood tree.

and for this: today, pushing roo in the stroller, i felt something over my right shoulder---shift in the air, a rushing. i looked up to see a flock of canada geese, the ragged, honking arrow of them flying low over the street in front of me, so near i could reach up and touch one if i wanted: his dark feet, his feathers. how do they know it's time to start flying? it still feels like summer here, but already they've started the small migrations they'll make all winter long, zigging from pond to pond in a miniature version of the longer journeys they no longer take, now that the climate is changing. 

*

for getting to witness the predictable, summer saturday routines of our neighborhood: the men who open the hardware store, wheeling out the display of lawnmowers every morning. the man who washes his car in our common parking lot in his j. crew catalogue clothes, rubbing wax onto the car's glossy finish in small, gentle circles, salsa music playing on the radio. the people queued up outside the cafe waiting for a table, reading the specials aloud to each other from the board propped outside the door. the man who owns the liquor store, sitting with his infant son on the trunk of his sedan, waiting for someone i never see arrive.

*

for deciding to be spontaneous and accept a friend's invitation to dinner, even if it meant roo getting to bed a little late. someday, i hope, i'll be able to say yes without pausing first, as i did today. i hope i'll remember that i never regret it.