November first and winter is driving the red and yellow and browned dead leaves from their tenuous hold on the branches of the deciduous trees that make Spokane such a green city in summer. They pile up against walls and in ditches, against fences and in my front yard. They catch and hold in the arms of the evergreens, hanging forlorn and askew between the undaunted needles. We live on Evergreen Road in Spokane, a city on the edge where the pine trees meet the sage brush. The sage brush and the evergreens holding green in the snow. Winter's coming.