Everywhere we go, leaves are falling from the trees like confetti. The chill wind is hastening the beginning of winter. Hanging on determinedly are the fruit and leaves of the persimmon trees. The bronze, orange and golden leaves, and occasionally a yellow fruit, are a brilliant splash of colour amongst the bare branches of other trees which have already yielded their leaves. The split, darkened fruit hang drying on the branch [below], only a few late wasps survive now, and the birds seem disinterested in the fruit.It has been an odd autumn. An odd year, as far as the weather goes. Hot and dry every day since September, until one day the temperature plummeted and the chill wind began to blow. The trees seemed to undress overnight. But still no rain. The farmers are despairing of their olive harvest. Pablo shrugs his shoulders with the weariness of one who has seen everything the weather can throw at a farmer, and predicts a dry winter.I remember his shake of the head, as I look at the beautiful autumn colours in the valley. A difficult winter lies ahead.5 to remember
el caqui – persimmon
el confeti – confetti
frío – chilly
bronce – bronze [colour]
ya – already