Leaves linger on the heavily pruned maple in The Grove after other leaves have fallen.
The rich and busy sound of an espresso machine frothing milk.
In my notebook I find a stanza from Thomas Hardy's poem A January Night. which seem appropriate in the context of the gusty, drenching weather visited upon us recently:
The rain smites more and more,
The east snarls and sneezes;
Through the joints of the quivering door
The water wheezes.
Smite is a good word isn't it? Makes me think of the King James Bible where in The Old Testament people seem to much engaged in smiting one another. Trouble is that in that part of the world smiting seems to go on and on. A good word to describe a bad habit.