albicocca1
At the Farmhouse
Windfall is a strange word; unexpected wealth, or fruit that has been blown roughly from a tree. It reminds us that there was a time when folk were even thankful for bruised apples.
It was snowing as I walked out to get coffee this morning. Not the first snow of the season, but the first at rush hour. The barista was sad because her bean delivery has been delayed and so she’ll be sitting in a long line of traffic at the border crossing, waiting to spend Thanksgiving with her American boyfriend and meet his family. They will drive for hours through the night tonight; young, infatuated and caffeinated.
When I get home there’s a wool hat lying on the sidewalk outside my house. I tie it to the leafless, fruit tree in our front yard so that passing dogs won’t piss or dribble on it. Perhaps its original owner will find it. Perhaps a hatless person with cold ears will see it as a windfall.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Rachel Irving and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
