Mooning at trees. A quick, clever glance over to Will. One black brow high. On two shots of Chivas, Will was in Joel-mode. He could almost keep up.
Quaking oval leaves, soon to die, in the tender orange light.
The air hayey-sweet, with a cool menacing edge. There was no stopping it. Purple in the shadows. White trunks and brown trunks. A developer's dream back here, Will thought.