A Certain Slant

Thursday looked like fall—clouds hung low; sprinklings of rain fell; the wind blew cold; lots of leaves skittered and scattered from the oaks. It felt as if winter was coming. By late afternoon, however, many clouds had blown away, and the sun—slanting low under the remaining clouds—made fall's muted colors glow with a new intensity.

Perhaps Emily Dickinson said it best, even though she was writing about winter, not fall:

There's a certain Slant of light

BY EMILY DICKINSON

There's a certain Slant of light,

Winter Afternoons—

That oppresses, like the Heft

Of Cathedral Tunes—

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us—

We can find no scar,

But internal difference—

Where the Meanings are—

None may teach it—Any—

'Tis the seal Despair—

An Imperial affliction

Sent us of the Air—

When it comes, the Landscape listens—

Shadows—hold their breath—

When it goes, 'tis like the Distance

On the Look of Death.

~