Fallen leaves remind me of November in Portland. They are green now; they were red then. Angels danced in rainstorms, and lovemaking struck lightning. They stirred something in me, something familiar. Something kind of like hope. Something kind of like home.
It was freezing this morning, and for whatever reason, it had me thinking about New York. And how it snowed in Central Park, such a brilliant white. I almost fell numerous times, and tree branches sparkled in the morning mist. Up and down the avenues we ventured, our breath dissolving before us. It took everything in me not to start a snowball fight with you – a spontaneous burst, like fallen stars and angel aura quartz. Clusters of flakes beneath Christmas trees of December 26. The paths were carved with flannel footprints and ice kisses. A piano playing softly when you took me into the Trump Building. And we scarfed down turkey burgers and ate so many sweet potato fries. And I couldn’t help but think what a sweet memory this would make someday.
The clouds hung heavy with autumn air this morning. The last summer cherries stifled the air with their crimson blooms. Dimples dipped into the corners of my mouth like dark sea star shadows on the shoreline. I will have to remember this feeling. When life is far harder than it is now. When the spools unravel and the salt settles rather than crystallizes. When gravity levels even the ocean floor. I will inhale the sweet nectar of this morning.
I miss gazing up at the stars and discussing science over spirituality. Or science with spirituality. Because in my world, one has never trumped the other. I want to talk about white lights and wordless wishes. An earful of milky ways and big dippers. What’s really up there. Heaven? Galaxies? Aliens? Astronauts climbing asteroids? Let me know the universe as not one or the other. But as all. Because I miss it.