Thomas Doty – Storyteller
Into the third day of the first fall rain, I sit in the shelter in the Japanese garden in Lithia Park, one of the few dry places around. The gray sky drips, the trees drip, the creek twists through a garden of fall colors that glow in the rain.
Such a sudden shift from Indian summer to fall: first the damp wind from the coast, then clouds that pressed the brown hills out of sight, now rain that brings a month of bright colors to the grass and the leaves, to days that stretch toward winter.
In the Japanese garden, the sky drips, the trees drip, the creek twists through the colors of fall.
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