I really can’t tell what this collage of words is– a poem, a thought, a story. It is most definitely based on a memory. It’s like when you look at a photo or a picture and it triggers a specific recollection, complete with smells, sounds, and intuitive understandings. Obviously it’s hard for me to put into words. Perhaps something like “memory-stories” is the best way to label these expressions.
The sky was mostly grey, with a rippling of clouds to give it some texture.
The air was little crisp, and smelled like earth, leaves, and wet. I love that smell.
The stone stairs that led down had a sprinkling of fallen leaves in yellow and red. Some brown. All kinds of shapes.
The weekend was about to start, it must have been Friday. It felt like a Friday, full of anticipation for the weekend. It was palpable in the air. Football always came on Saturdays, and that meant being outdoors– cool and delightful– or cozy, warm, and indoors. It made me smile to think about it.
The path at the bottom of the steps was vacant, most people were inside on this late afternoon. But I wanted to walk a spell. The trees rustled, and whispered that there was a sprinkling of rain on the way. No matter.
There’s a slight tug at my heart, as briefly I contemplate life outside this place. Do autumn Fridays still feel the same elsewhere?
Or when you leave, do they lose this special feeling; the week is over, a full weekend lies ahead. A chance to sleep, listen to the rain, make a hot breakfast, have coffee, stay in your pjs, read, make love, cook dinner, see friends, and have too much wine. Or are they transformed into just another day in a jumble of hours and minutes; all of which go by too quickly, hurtling infinitely ahead?
I can’t know, and the future remains open. But the glow emanating out of the windows of the buildings is comforting. The evenings will always come swiftly in late October, and there will always be time for a quick walk before dinner, and darkness. I don’t want to think that feeling leaves us, and that each year it comes back to us to remind us of this time and this place.