Leaves changing

"Autumn in New York" goes the song that evokes a mood perfect for the season--lovely, melodic, a touch sad. The jackets have come out of the closet and gotten buttoned. Scarves welcomed around the neck. Soon gloves too--or already in use. It's not like any other season, a time both exciting for what happens in the city and melancholy for the days that have shortened. The sun shoots its rays only around corners, sends warmth but intermittently and not to be depended on. Yesterday a friend invited me to an exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art, and I planned to leave early enough to take the 5th Avenue bus, a rare event. I boarded at 77th Street and for twenty-five blocks was dazzled by the colors in Central Park. That park which is so well cared for rewards the city with outrageous bursts of yellow and orange and brown leaves--not much green left at all. I wanted everyone to see them, knowing their show will close soon. This was happening in New York City, not Vermont Vermont not needed.