The mist and rains began the same day the Sisters left after a perfect week. They haven't stopped since. It hasn't been very cool, but it has been very wet. November and rearranged time arrived in a mist.
The leftovers of autumn are all that remain.
The blue pot bamboo bottle tree gets more attention in the barren time. It's bone structure stands out.
Mist washes over the mountain first in one direction, before switching after the passage.
I drove south into the mist of November for my cousin's funeral. There is no way of knowing what time it really is for me.