It does this specifically to bother me, I’m sure of it. The dusk autumnal splashes of incarnadine light that make me drive twenty miles over the speed limit to get to my camera, and then disappear, forcing me to placate/enrage myself with the trite reassurance that it was enough to see it. It’s the time of year when every house looks like the one Jamie Lee Curtis is babysitting at in Halloween. It’s the time of year when you can wear sweaters, praise be to God, and feel the air enliven your body like alka seltzer in a glass of water. It’s the time of year when someone plays Creed’s “Higher” at full volume in a parking lot and still all you can do is grin because it’s so unbelievably perfect outside. It’s like nature has been working on itself all year, having its fair share of failures and successes and then autumn rolls around and it gets it right, dammit, and it knows it. Never mind the fact that it has to learn this every year, none of us care, at least I don’t, because it means I can ride the moped wearing my gay ’70s tennis player shirt, dirt-brown pants with squiggles on the back pockets and pointed leather shoes and look unnaproachably glamorous.
But I’ve always turned heads in this town.
I’m Jonah’s whale in a mucky puddle. It’s never been enough before, but now that I’m leaving, it seems like it could be. Especially after the weather change; it’s like it’s pleading for a second chance. “You can make it here,” it says desperately, enthusiastically, displaying all of its peacock feathers of possibility. “Think of how much you’ll stand out – think of how little you’ll have to do – think of how much money you’ll save.” But I don’t listen to it. I turn up the music in my head and I think of how mind-blowingly beautiful Central Park in the fall will be. It has to be this way. I don’t think I’ll make much of myself, truthfully. But I know it’ll be more than here.
You and I were
Born like the breaking day
All our seasons
All our green Septembers
Slowly we’ll fade into
A sea of midnight blue
And a falling crescent noon
I love your hilariously sharp wordcrafting skills; I always have, and this one certainly does it well. It’s like during Autumn you are at your most powerful and the world would be fucked to cross you in your fancy-ass-jeans. It’s a confidence I love seeing in you. Because it seldom happens. And more often than not you are briefly able to forget about everything except being loved and valued.