The Sentinel and Samaras

There was no one at the Viewpoint when I went there this evening. It was drizzling, and there was a fair amount of mist in the air, which gave the Christmas lights here and there an aura. I noticed that there were still a few dry leaves hanging lifelessly from the Sentinel, and some samaras, too. Then I thought of the artist Lucas Samaras and wondered how it came about that his name is the same as the name for the things that contain the seeds of the maple tree. When the wind blows, and they're ready to fall, the samaras get picked up by the wind and carried quite far from the tree where they grew. As I left the Viewpoint, I passed a person walking a dog--a woman, I believe.

Finding the Right Word

It seems like there's a word for everything if you just keep searching for it. Recently I wrote about the low cement embankment at the Viewpoint. Well, I stopped by the Viewpoint this morning and got to wondering whether I'd used the right word for what I called the "embankment." At first there was nobody else there. But then two women came walking along. I asked them, "What would you call this cement strip here?" "Footings," one offered, without hesitation. I'm not sure that word is appropriate, regardless of whether it's in the singular or plural. But I think embankment may be way off, too. If you go to the Viewpoint and you can come up with a better word, please let me know.

As I was leaving, I noticed that a few leaves on the Sentinel--the Bigleaf Maple that grows up from just underneath the edge--have already turned yellow. And the samaras (the "maple keys" containing the seeds) have now more or less turned brown. Time marches on.