Albert the dog in New York

Autumn Leaves

Autumn is my favorite season in New York, even if it means sometimes having to wear my coat. The falling temperature and humidity allow me to walk longer without getting overheated; the motorcycles and skateboards that I so loathe are fewer in number; and in the parks the nutty, sweet scent of decaying leaves—elm, plane, white oak, sycamore, red maple, and more—and the marvelously fetid odor of rotting ginkgo fruit send my olfactory receptors into overdrive.

Whoever’s homeless now, will build no shelter;
who lives alone will live indefinitely so,
waking up to read a little, draft long letters,
and, along the city’s avenues,
fitfully wander, when the wild leaves loosen.
-Rainer Maria Rilke, “Day in Autumn
(Translated by Mary Kinzie)

With the shorter days at this time of year, even I am bound to be a little more pensive than usual, to find my thoughts circling around existential questions, pondering without hope of resolution the problem of my purpose in the universe.

Pardon me, I just have to…

Sniff, sniff. What's that?

Sniff, sniff. What’s that?

Pardon me, I just have to

I’ll just be a moment.





I'm sorry, what were we talking about?

I’m sorry, what were we talking about?


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