Afterglow

I found profound contentment in washing a kitchen full of dishes, alone in the waning hours of this evening. The music of Melody Gardot and Van Morrsion drifted in from the living room, as sudsy warm water poured over my hands, and I grinned in recollection of a night well-spent. Winter, you've got nothing that a kick-ass pananag curry, a good bottle of wine, and great company can't melt away.

Fall

Swirling, churning, a blustery burning, it whirls into the indolently ebbing summer to remind me of the meaning of time. Swelling the landscape with a wave of color, frosting the grass with a bitter suggestion that the party might soon be over, it nips my cheeks with chilly lips as I gather myself within a coat that embraces me like an old friend. The marina sits empty now, long weathered creaky docks calling stalwart seagulls to their tall dark pilings, to await an onslaught of ice. I walk through the wind among these patient sentries, gazing out at the lake, darkened like a winter sky, as distant rolling white-capped waves beckon me like sirens.

If I cried out, who among the angels would hear my voice?

This morning as I rode on the bus in to work, I was reminded of one of the more compelling reasons why I love this town. To my left, a gentleman intently reading a scientific paper titled, "Functional Pattern Analysis: Predicting the Evolution of Complex Organized Networks." To my right, a fellow perusing an anthology of poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke. Behind me, a lively discussion between a man and a woman about the annealing process in snowflake formation. In front of me, a crowd of faces hinting of Asian, European, African, and Latin origins, all bundled in their assorted winter armor, dusted in a layer of new and infinitely variable snowflakes.