Heading Home Sun’s igniting the last leaves so they flame then fade quickly as snowflakes. Sodden fields hold light for longer, drink it in, so sheep float on dense green light. This light knows no limit—passing creeks catch it too turn to beaten glitter, mirror the steel gleam of sky. On the train we sit, read, talk, eat in a moving, blinking river of light. Children hold gold light in their hair, release light with their laughter. Some crazy Midas can’t help himself— caresses everything uncontrollably, so wind is light, trees are light, the glance from the woman opposite is…