Come January, or maybe even in two weeks time, I want to remember this morning and my skin kissed by sun. Under the wet cloak of dark, let me unearth this ripe with fall light and the tip-toe stalking of everything that caught it. Let me feel gratitude for the acid radiance of faded glorybower leaves. The dewy fuschia and indigo of her fruit. The sunset berries of cotoneaster. The lemony yarrow. The fiery glow of near falling currant leaves. The crisp white of cotton on the line. And how the warbling, tweeting birds danced, dipped, dove, and flapped under a firmament of blue.