I sneak outside to welcome the sun. At equinox it pours directly up my street over the tree tops. The neighbor's dogwood is turning brown mainly, but there's a bit of red beginning.
The last of the Crepe Myrtle shows in glaring white against the shady background.
I think of the folks in that plane above the oak headed to Atlanta probably, and to more travels. They have no idea what a simple life I'm leading down here below them. And I've only been part of the "jet set" life a few times myself.