The morning breeze sent a wave of yellow twinkles against the dappled sun-barred east. Almost constantly leaves were falling. They were tears, I doubt not, as they fell heavily straight downward. Ground underneath yellow-speckled. Leaf-dotted ground. Leaf-starred lawns.

Charles Burchfield, Journal, 1914

EPHEMERIS FOR THE FIRST WEEK OF LATE FALL
The Second Spring Moon waxes all week, becoming completely full and entering its powerful third quarter on November 13 at 1:17 a.m. Plan nighttime outdoor activities before midnight, when the moon will be moving overhead.

Venus joins Jupiter in Sagittarius this month, both visible at sunset in the far southwest. Venus is the brighter of the two giant planets. Mars moves to Scorpio, lost in the glow of the rising sun. Saturn remains in Leo, coming up after midnight and moving overhead by at dawn.

INVENTORY
Craneflies are spinning at the porch light in the humid and warm November morning. The sun rises into the clear sky from the southeast. Geese fly over at 6:45, robins heard later passing through the honeysuckles.
In the yard, the hostas have almost melted to slush. The New England aster leaves are gold and falling, flower heads gray and tufted. Forsythia foliage is purple from the frosts, tree of heaven branches blackened and collapsing. Japanese knotweed has become brittle and the color of parchment. In the front garden, snow-on-the-mountain is returning, starting to replace the wilting leaves of the sedum.
In the alley, one dandelion, one purslane, a few violet aster plants three or four inches tall with flowers, one goldenrod stalk still gold in Don’s garden, one yellow stella d’oro. The last apple fell a week ago.
At the corner of High and Limestone streets, bittersweet hulls have opened, revealing bright orange berries. The privet leaves are almost gone and showing deep blue berries, magenta coral berries behind them. The white mulberry tree and Rachel’s ginkgo are completely green, and many of our redbuds keep their red-green leaves.
Along the highway, some bright colors remain from oaks, sweet gum, sycamore, silver and sugar maples, smoke bush, crab apple, pear. Starlings line the telephone wires. Only occasional asters in very late bloom here and there, maybe one or two pale flowers to a plant. Downtown, sparrows and starlings chatter in the pear trees.
Out in the woods: With most of the canopy gone, the sky has opened up above the water. With the sun out, the water hasn't been so blue since the first of May. Seeds are sprouting in rotten logs, the sweet smell of autumn ground all around me. The brightest November greens are the fresh waterleaf and moss and glade grasses, then the yellow green of the honeysuckles. Chickweed is fresh and thick among the bare purple raspberry canes. The low sun rests in the treetops. The silver winding river, the fallen logs invisible in summer, lie below me.
At home this mild evening in the wind, I sit and watch gusts of leaves sailing over the roof into the pond. One late cabbage butterfly flies by me looking for cabbages. Craneflies are spinning in the last of the sun and mating on the picnic table. In the southwest corner of the greenhouse, a cricket sings its piercing, vibrating song until I go to bed.