Sycamore leaves, millpond

With Friday the 13th upon us, triskaidekaphobiacs and their actual-day phobes, the paraskevidekatriaphobia clan—are in a tizzy everywhere. Not me. In an act of defiance and optimism—maybe I really will recover fully from my heart surgery and disease, and perhaps the blessed election of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris will enable this un-united country to get back together again—I took advantage of a fabulous photo deal and ordered a new flash unit to replace my old one. That done, I did a bit of almost dry-weather exploring. The discoveries are getting increasingly subtle, and finding anything new requires paying closer and closer attention to details, many of them not immediately obvious. That's fine, of course. This gathering of dry leaves, most of them from a large Sycamore, don't look like much, but they speak volumes about the state of the natural world, the passage of color and hardwood foliage from the landscape, and, well, the beginning of one end and the start of a new beginning. The latter natural reality takes the fright out of this creepy calendar date.