November is approaching and Heat has taken note. It returned today, the stealthy bugger, to throw its last two cents in before the season of turkeys and garland and cranberry candles. To make an appearance before Cold arrives. Unbreakable Cold.
It’s warm, yes, but windy. The red and oranges and yellows and greens are falling and flying, swiveling and soaring, capturing the very essence of this sunny October weekend in their afternoon dance.
Here, now, I am compelled to write to You—You, the nonexistent recipient of my heart’s inner ticking. I must write you, in fact. I must, I must. I must write of you, to you, about you, through you. Now.
This is a thirst on a warm autumn day and this, my dear, dear friend, is the newest addition to a never-finished compilation of years of letters and short stories and journal entries. An addition that, similar to many others, will never reach You because I know not your mailing address.
I sit in a coffee shop with delicious coffee and plastic décor and a bad choice in font and peer through the large window overlooking the street as if looking at a large TV screen. An odd TV, I admit. Hello tacky spider web and foam spider front and center. How do you do, pumpkin garland and BEWARE caution tape.
I watch Life happen.
In the country, we often hear and see the city happenings. The Happenings are fed to us subconsciously, most often; they are the backdrops to a favorite movie or behind the reporter on TV at six. And with a gentle push of a forefinger, the City Happenings disappear. City sirens are muted, city people put to bed, piles of leaves lining city gutters instantly cleaned, blown home thousands of miles away.
We turn off the city and find stillness and hooting owls and rustling pasture grass. Out our doors, the leaves never have to stop their dance.
But it is real!
Have you known this all along?
There are sirens that scream until they fade and there are piles of leaves with nowhere to spin and there are people, oh! How there are people today! Little people, too. Toddlers as baby chicks or Jedi’s or kitty cats or batmans, so many batmans.
Here, trick-or-treat is not limited to one night. Not one night in a square-mile radius, like my childhood. In the city, to hell with the rules. If it’s October, it’s trick-or-treat, and if it’s warm in October, it’s definitely trick-or-treat. The heat, I think, encourages the rebel in us chic city folk.
Us. And they are, I suppose, like me. They are probably far from their homes, too. The homes of their childhood.
Oh, but right now, I am the only one with this view here.
This is my window screen, mine and well–I guess also the busy bespectacled man with the baseball cap next to me–but this is my window screen and he’s too absorbed on his phone anyway to see. Yes! Yes, this is my view and mine alone and I feel responsible to tell You. I feel I must.
The world is bustling and the Heat has paid a visit and oh, what a weekend it is to be alive.