Another month is fading out, sunshine giving more room for cloudy days and the sound of rain barely heard over the whir of the fan in the humid darkness. No longer summer but not yet fall, the trees hang quietly dripping the last of the night’s rain in preparation for the next dark clouds blowing across the middle of the day to lash the window with blurring streams.
The green remains in the leaves which in turn remain on the trees, keeping them clothed for a little while longer. Soon enough the autumn which in other places hails the brightest of colors, the crispest of mornings, the frost on the ground, and the smell of raked up piles burning to ash. Here, quieter colors tempered by quieter growth tempered by duller light, soggy mornings, soggy coats, and the smell of soggy mold.
Not always. Today can be confused with always. Today, the humidity is weighing me down.
As I write today’s date I realize the beautiful month of October is almost half over. Right now the sun is shining, the trees are ranging from green to yellow to orange to red. The breeze is tickling the trees and bringing them to the dance. With grace and beauty they bow and sway to an unheard music. I am content to watch for hours, but I already started to post. I’ll finish this and gaze out of the window some more.
Look at the year. 2013. Something that as I child I could not see ever coming. I lived in the fifties and sixties of the twentieth century, and the twenty-first was beyond my comprehension. Needless to say I’ve lived for several decades since, but those years, the formative years, established a frame of reference for which I have yet to find a cure. Even now I’m a little astonished to see the two thousands show up on my newspaper and my checks, although I am the one that wrote the date.
I have been married almost twice as long as I was single, but if distracted I may find I’m writing my maiden name. I was happy to change names at the time, for the new name fit better on the checks, and was easier to say. Still, there are moments of surprise at the new name. How can it be the new name when it’s been here so long? Thirty-nine and a half years.
My kids were born in the seventies and eighties, and I still think of them as ‘the kids.’ My kid brothers were born in the sixties, and I call them ‘the boys’ and probably will when they’re in their sixties. The grandchildren? They are my babies. Sorry about that, little ones. It’s amazing how they can make me smile when they aren’t even here.
The sun is still shining, the breeze has become a wind, and the dance is more like a jive than a waltz. I have to stop now. October is calling.