It feels strange to think it’s November. These days tumble past faster and faster. Weeks pass. Months pass. Seasons pass.
And now it’s November.
Two months left of the year.
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All week long I’ve been painting whirly birds.* That’s what I used to call maple seeds when I was young.
At this time of year when the seeds come helicoptering to the ground it’s hard not to feel a surge of childlike joy. I walk around with my eyes to the ground trying to find the most interesting ones.
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