I am restless on this fall day and I pace pace pace my apartment. Remembering things, forgetting things, remembering and then forgetting again. The wind sways the trees in front of my bedroom window with a heavy hand, the boughs now clearly visible, revealing neighbors I never knew I had and Long Island City beyond me. Last night I fell asleep with a foreign light pouring through my window, pinkish in hue, from the building that had been hidden these last few months. That building with its god awful matching patios and linear exit signs. Oh, how I will miss the leaves.
It is three p.m. when I leave the house and when I do it is warmer than I thought it would be and I am sad it has taken me this long to get outdoors. I pass by my favorite house, the one that has the uncanny chameleon-like ability to match the sky, no matter what shade, bleeding away from the earth in the most beautiful way.
The streets smell of these leaves that were just a few weeks ago much higher, greener, and more to my California liking – the dusty smell of them now fallen, assuming their post-mortem shrivel into sad little crisps that disintegrate underfoot, rendered just a brief memory in the dream of a tree.