I had a nightmare last night.
I looked out the window and leaves were yellow, branches bare and a cold wind seemed to blow. Like that, summer was gone. This is probably symptomatic only of the air conditioner overcranking in my bedroom, but, sad fact is August is about to flip over to the next page.
Now, in Forest Cities, that’s not necessarily a deadly issue. I like fall mostly. I’ve often called it my favorite season. I guess I just don’t feel done with summer, even though there are three weeks left. It might be that demarcation that the start of the school year slaps on us, and I’m still scarred all these years later. “It’s not hay fever mom. I’m allergic to school.”
Though now that I’ve mentioned it, I’ve started to think about the good things in autumn to which I look forward. More stews. Roast whole poultry filling the place with sage-y aromatics. The spicy smell of a walk through the fallen leaves in the woods. Somewhere in there a mug of Klekolo coffee on my balcony will factor in, overlooking the trees on a cool day. By October my view will change to this:
There are worse views, to be sure. Having never been to Connecticut, I’m not sure, but I will guess you have similar vistas there. Some of you probably have big-ass trees that you will have the urge to cut down after they drop exponentially increasing dead leaves on your grass. Big piles of raked leaves are usually only fun for those who don’t rake them.
I live on the tenth floor. They don’t bother me none.
So why did it all feel like a nightmare as I was dreaming it. What lingers about it isn’t, now that I think about it, the inexorable march of the seasons. It’s symbolic, of course, and I will probably spend, oh, upwards of five more minutes pondering meaning and implication. I suspect though it is simply a sort of alarm clock. You know how you can choose a favourite radio station or put a really good CD in your bedside alarm and no matter how much you like what’s playing, if it’s up a little loud, or your sleep is still a little deep, when it starts up, it’s jarring. That’s kind of what this was like. “Hey dude,” my subconscious is saying, “I want some turkey.”
Drinking: Peruvian
LIstening: George Winston – Woods
