There are yellow leaves all over the sidewalks of New York, that the doormen and store owners try to get rid of with the long hoses that they bring out in the morning to water down the pavement, to make it clean, to make it grow, to make it shine.
The fog was so thick today that walking down 7th Ave the skyline of downtown was invisible, cut off, swallowed up in the thickness of it, as though the city itself had suddenly disappeared over night.
And on 66th street there were men on ladders stringing white lights on the naked trees in the afternoon so that they would be bright at night.
At Lincoln Center there was a line a block long to get tickets to The Nutcracker, and it was so windy out the people were pulling up the collars of their coats.
On 59th street it was officially declared peppermint mocha time of year again, as the Starbucks on the corner was full of red holiday cups, large snowflake cookies, and crowds of people all ready for their first cup of the season.
At Central Park South the ice skating rink is visible through the park and was filled with people all moving in a counter-clockwise motion with The Park Plaza, The Ritz-Carlton and The Essex House all watching over them from above.
By the time I got home the yellow leaves were gone, and with them, fall, and I didn’t even notice.
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